


Remember me

by oleksisforeign



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Homophobia, M/M, Memory Loss, Smut, closeting, unrealistic medical condition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:59:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 81,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oleksisforeign/pseuds/oleksisforeign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was knowing he was there, but not being able to touch him, see him, not being able to know it was Harry being a part of him too. </p><p> or where Louis can't remember him and Harry ever being together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part one

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote the first four chapters of this in first person, and have been changing them to third person from Harry's pov, so sorry if there are any slip ups!

Sunshine is mediocre at best when you wake up to Louis. The bronze of his skin looks almost golden against the whites of the sheets, hair stuck up in every direction from the hair product still embedded into his scalp from last night. It’s early still, too early for Louis to be getting up any time soon, but Harry was past awake.

He lets his fingers run over the skin of Louis’ back gently, more feeling than anything else, because it was so hard to imagine him as anything other than a dream. He doesn’t stir at all; he sleeps like the dead most nights. He’s been exhausted for weeks now, parading around with Eleanor for the whole world to see.

Harry’s chest tightens and he pulls his fingers away. Sometimes Louis didn’t come home, and those nights it was hard to tell himself Louis was still his when everyone else believed he wasn’t. Harry knew Louis always came home to him, no matter what he saw in the tabloids or on the news. Louis always came home to him.

But things have been getting heated recently, with the rumors surrounding Larry Stylinson. Management wasn’t pleased about it of course, so they took extra care to make sure Louis and Eleanor were obvious, were _real_ , whatever that word meant to them.

They’d made Harry go to Taylor’s before, made it seem like he had spent the night in her hotel room or her flat because otherwise people would think they weren’t serious, weren’t _real_. But he always came home to Louis, always.

They made Louis stay, though.

Harry leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Louis’ spine, closing his eyes as the sleeping boy’s body instinctively shifted back into him.

Harry hadn’t woken up next to Louis in weeks, had barely seen him except for at rehearsals, bodies electrified against each other’s behind closed doors, and his occasional face in the tabloid.

God Harry missed him, missed this, missed the clash of Louis’ colors against his. Harry hums against him, unable to keep himself quiet, and it’s not long before Louis’ humming back.

“Morning love,” Harry whispers into the back of his neck. Louis curls up and out, stretching before turning around to get a look at him.

He’s the most beautiful thing Harry’s ever laid eyes on, hair strewn out in every direction, eyes small and smiling, the crinkles he loves to kiss so much spreading out along his skin. Louis licks his lips, dry from the night, and Harry can’t help it when he swoops in and captures them for himself.

He already can’t breathe. “I’ve missed you,” Harry murmurs against him.

“God you have no idea,” Louis says back, breathless. “I’m sorry I got in so late. I didn’t want to wake you – “

Harry traces his thumb along Louis’ bottom lip. “It’s okay, we both needed the sleep anyway.”

He runs his fingers through Harry’s curls and it feels so unbelievably good, so safe and right and normal that he just closes his eyes and lays his head onto Louis’ chest, afraid of this ending, afraid that he’ll have to get up and leave all over again.

“Don’t ruin it,” he says, because he knows Harry better than anyone else.

“Okay.”

They lay in silence after that because their communication didn’t really come in words anyways. Harry lets himself breathe against Louis’ heartbeat, reveling in the slow rise and fall of his chest against the warmth of his cheek.

“You know, the house looked unlived in when I got here.”

Harry squeezes his eyes tight in frustration because he always asks about this, always has to inquire about how much Harry hurt while he was gone.

“You’re ruining it,” he grumbles, and Louis’ fingers tighten in his hair.

“Hazza you have to take care of yourself-“

Harry pushes himself up angrily, staring him directly in the eyes because he knows Louis hates confrontation. “You think I can do something like that when you’re out there with her?”

Louis’ eyes look so blue and broken and Harry wishes he could put them back together. “Don’t do that.”

He lays himself back down on Louis’ chest because that’s the best he can do. “I take care of myself alright? I stay at Liam’s.” It was so much easier to sleep with someone else than to sleep alone.

Louis’ fingers lower down to the curve of Harry’s back, tracing imaginary pictures along the lines there.

“I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t be.”

Lou sighs against him and Harry wraps his arms around his waist, hugging him tight against his torso because this always happens, and he wishes that just for once after Louis gets home they could just be together because it never seems to happen that way anymore.

“Want some breakfast?” Harry asks softly, and he can feel the small laugh start in Louis’ stomach.

“God do you even know how much I’ve missed your cooking? I’ve eaten nothing but breakfast burritos from McDonalds for the past week.”

Harry smiles at that because he loves feeling needed like this. “One batch of pancakes coming up.”

He manages to pry myself away from Louis’ half naked body and pad his way over to the dresser, pulling on a pair of briefs before heading down the few steps leading to the kitchen. He’s just getting down the ingredients to make his special ones from scratch when he hears his phone vibrate against the coffee table. Harry picks it up after the fourth or fifth ring.

“What?” He mumbles softly into the other end, heading back up to the counter and measuring out flour with his free hand.

“Get up, get dressed, and bring Louis. Meet us in a half an hour, we have lots to go over.” It’s Tesla.

“Go over?” Harry’s blood is already boiling.

“We’ll talk when you get here.”

“No, we just got up and we’re tired-“

“Plenty of time for that later.”

“Can’t you just give us a few _hours_? Louis just got back-“

“I wasn’t asking Harry. Wake up Louis, bring him in, and we’ll get this new situation that has seemed to arise sorted. I’ve already informed the other boys.”

They hang up before he can say anything further, and Harry slams the phone angrily against the stone counter. He takes a few deep breaths because his whole body hurts and he cannot deal with this, can’t keep covering up every little thing the media spews because god he’s just so _tired_.

Harry feels warm arms creep their way around his waist and he just gets angrier because Lou doesn’t need this either. His lips press against Harry’s shoulder.

“How about we go take a shower, yeah?”

Harry tenses up because god there is nothing more that he would love to do right now, nothing more he’s craved since Louis’ been gone, because they hadn’t touched that way in what’s felt like far too long and his body aches uncomfortably for it.

He turns around and captures Louis’ face in his hands, the older boy’s mischievous morning smile faltering at the frown on Harry’s lips.

“Sorry to ruin it Lou,” Harry replies achingly slow, “but managements called.”

His body stiffens against Harry’s. “Is that a bloody joke?”

“I really wish it were-“

Louis shoves himself away from Harry roughly, hands going straight to his hair, fingers tangling themselves in the caramel strands.

“Louis please-“

“I’ve done everything they’ve asked!” He won’t turn to look at Harry and he hates it. “I went out with her too many times to count, took pictures with her, kissed her, stayed _nights_ with her! And then the one time in weeks that I actually get to be with you they want more?”

Harry clenches his jaw because they both can’t be angry, not at the same time, not when Lou’s so stressed like this. He doesn’t say anything, waits for him to finish because Louis will never listen to him otherwise.

“They think they can just milk me of my life? They’ve already taken away my family, kept me away from my friends because the _horror_ it would be if they slipped about us, but they cannot take you away from me too.” He grips the counter so hard his fingers turn white. “I’m so _tired_ of this Hazza.”

“Then what’s stopping us?” Harry regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth, and he bites his lip angrily in response. Management stopped being the reason for keeping them hidden a long time ago. They still acted like they had this sort of control over them, the guilt trips and the games, but they both knew the real reason was because while Louis acted tired and vocalized about it even more than Harry did, he just wasn’t ready.

A part of Harry believed he’d never be ready.

“You’re really going to fucking bring that up are you?” Louis looks at Harry then, and he really wished he hadn’t.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes you did, you always mean what you say.” He tears his gaze away from Harry and pushes off from the counter, heading back towards their shared bathroom. “You can find your own ride to the office.”

His words burn. Harry turns around and shoves the pancake materials back against the tiled wall, sighing in frustration. He always had to fuck up everything good, didn’t he? He hears the water start so he goes back into the bedroom, safe now from Louis’ brutal gaze.

Harry pulls on a button up and some skinny black trousers before pulling his cream colored beanie over his hair and trudging to the front, grabbing his phone from the counter on the way. He calls up Liam because he’ll be expecting him anyway.

“Need a ride?”

Harry hates how sad his voice sounds. “Yeah.”

Liam picks him up outside their flat, and Harry thanks god Liam was quick so that he wouldn’t be standing there awkwardly when Louis came out. He doesn’t say anything when Harry gets in, and he really does appreciate it.

“How’s Lou?” He asks after a few minutes because he should ask anyway.

“Good. Tired. The usual.” Harry wishes they didn’t always have to fight. It feels like all they do is fight anymore.

“He coming this morning?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t need to clarify that it’s separately.

Liam just barely nods and then focuses on the road because he knows when Harry wants to be left alone. He pulls into the parking lot around ten minutes later, and Harry’s quick to hop out and make his way into the looming building. Louis isn’t there when he pushes through the heavy glass doors, and it makes his heart sink.

The receptionist flirts at Harry with her eyes, so he goes over and chats with her because he’d like to just not feel like shit. It’s not long though before he sees Lou finally sway in through the door, looking completely and utterly fuckable and obviously having planned on it.

“Are you trying to drive me insane?” Harry mumbles mostly to himself, cutting off the receptionist mid-sentence. Louis’ finds Harry, his face blank but eyes so bright, before heading over to sit with Niall.

Tesla comes in then, thank god, and pulls at her blazer. “Let’s go.”

They all follow her back, Louis purposefully walking ahead of Harry and he hates it when Lou gets angry at him like this because he gets so passive aggressive and irritating and just looks at Harry like he’s the last thing on the planet he wants to be looking at.

Harry remembers when they were stronger. For a while it seemed like they were getting better the further along they got, their love growing with each lie, but then they started to crumble and fall apart in secret, hiding it away from the other because they both can’t give up now, not now.

They didn’t use to hate this fiercely. They used to forgive each other, too often Harry supposes, but they didn’t mind then and he wouldn’t mind now if it were still the same. But Lou got more stubborn, forced to become tough because the media didn’t allow him to be anything less. It wasn’t long after that when the stubbornness, toughness, lack of energy and time and want and _need_ reflected back to Harry.

Tesla leads them into a conference room and they seat themselves around the oval table. Harry doesn’t sit next to Louis because he knows he wants him to.

She drops today’s paper in front of Harry personally, her tongue clicking annoyingly in the back of his head. “I s’pose you’d like to explain this then?”

It’s Harry’s face, plastered to the front page, hair greasy and eyes too red. The headline reads, POOR HARRY ALL ALONE WITH LOUIS GONE. Harry looks away and slumps deeper into his chair because while Lou knows how much it affects him when he’s gone, he’s never really seen Harry like that before.

He shrugs in response.

“It seems that the media is much more keen to analyze _you_ while Louis is with Eleanor than to actually talk about Louis and Eleanor, which is why they have a contract _in the first place_.”

It’s far too quiet. Harry can hear the clock tick on the wall behind his head.

“Do you do it on purpose? Do you do it just to get under my skin? You understand what’s at stake here, don’t you, if the truth about you and Louis were to come out. You realize your careers would be over.”

“Did you call us here just to ridicule Harry or do you have something to propose?” Harry’s surprised by the protectiveness in Louis’ voice. He catches the older boy’s eyes almost desperately and shivers at the possession residing there.

Tesla huffs in response, ripping the paper from the table in frustration. “Apparently Haylor was too unbelievable, not enough reliable sources saying you two were wildly in love and head over heels for each other. All the public saw was you holding hands and apparently it didn’t please or put the rumors to rest.”

“You honestly believe that’ll ever happen?” Lou asks incredulously.

“Well maybe if you stopped making heart eyes at each other every chance you got and _touching_ so secretively when you don’t think there’s a camera pointed then we wouldn’t have this problem now would we?”

Harry glares at her for Louis because he doesn’t want him to think they aren’t in this together.

“You’re going to date someone new. She’ll start off as a close friend, someone from home. You’ll say she’s been helping you get over Taylor, that she’s been a true _pal_.” She looks over at Louis. “You will _like_ her, and _act like it_.” Back to Harry. “The paps will snap a picture of you and her kissing by the door of your flat, and wa-la.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows because it’s a shit idea. “You think us having been friends will make it seem more serious?”

“Course it will,” she snaps. “That’s what got the rumors about you and Louis started in the first place isn’t it?”

Harry looks down at the table. “You realize we’ll be playing this way for the rest of our careers right?”

“Like I said, if you two had been a bit more conservative of your feelings for each other this never would have happened in the first place.” He knew she was going to turn it back on them, blame them for the pain they had to go through, but it still hits him hard.

She sighs and rubs her eyes. “Now get out, all of you. You tire me out.”

They all stand up almost in unison and leave closely packed because that’s their unspoken way of showing they’re there for each other. Zayn squeezes Harry’s shoulders from behind while he just stares at the back of Louis’ head.

As soon as they’re back in the lobby Lou turns around and grabs Harry’s shirt, pulling him into his arms. Harry lets his arms wrap around Louis’ waist because he needs him and Harry needs him just as much.

“You think we’ll even get to see each other any more?” Harry asks.

“No.” Harry loves that he’s honest but it still hurts like hell.

“I don’t want to hide you anymore.” He squeezes his eyes tightly because he knows Louis’ll be angry he’s said it but he has to say it sometimes.

Lou bites his shirt to muffle the whine that climbs up his throat. “I hate this Hazza.”

“I know love.” Harry kisses his hair, breathing in his soap and shampoo because right now nothings ever smelled as good.

“It’s not fair.”

“Never is.”

The other boys give them comforting looks from a few feet away and Harry can’t help but feel a little bit more okay.

Louis pulls away and Harry doesn’t want him to, but he lets him anyway. He interlocks their fingers though, kissing Harry gently on the cheek.

“We’ll survive won’t we?”

“We always do.” But there’s a first for everything right?

He smiles a few seconds later, practically beaming, and Harry’s surprised at the quick change of emotion. “Your birthday’s next week curly.”

Harry smiles back because he can’t help it. “You planning something then?”

Louis rolls his eyes with a small scoff. “What kind of person do you take me for?”

Harry kisses his forehead, arms traveling around his waist and leading him slowly towards the doors. “I love you," he says, because he doesn’t think he says it nearly enough.

“Good.”

 

 


	2. Part two

“You think they’ll have pomegranates?”

“Don’t get your hopes up love, they’re seasonal aren’t they?”

Harry hums in response and drops a bag of grapes into the wire basket dangling between Louis’ fingers, idling along the rows of fruit while he just lags behind, eyes searching for the food he knew Harry wanted. Harry picks up a couple of apples and roll them around a few times in his hands before stalking back to Lou and placing them in the basket. He laughs a little.

“Don’t get too carried away, we came to buy stuff for dinner didn’t we?”

“You’re no fun,” Harry whines, but smiles when Louis doesn’t take the apples back out.

Food shopping with Louis was a considerable pastime of Harry’s, because it always made him feel normal, made them feel normal. No matter how much unneeded food he loaded up into their cart Lou never put anything back, although he complained and whined about it bitterly because _one time_ Harry didn’t eat the two packs of strawberries he bought on a whim. _One time_.

But now it feels like, in some way, here at the small grocery shop by their flat, they can just act like themselves, the way they are when they’re together. It feels like the only time they get to do that is back at theirs, or at one of the other boys’. But that was the point wasn’t it? This was a public place, a public place where Lou didn’t mind so much when Harry ran his fingers through the older boy’s hair while debating which pasta to buy, when Harry got all of his favorite yogurts down from the top shelf without needing to ask, or when he let his fingers brush along Louis’s side whenever he placed something they didn’t need into his arms.

Harry took full advantage of it, the touching, the staring, the whispered nicknames they only ever called at each other in private. And it made his heart swell even more when Louis started doing it back, started relaxing into this new routine Harry had somehow come to master.

Lou was difficult, stubborn, tense, and a lot of times unmovable. Their situation had bloomed in him the idea that he had to be like that all the time, wall raised and guarded, even with Harry. It hurt sometimes, that he forgot to take it down when he got home, the yelling and the screaming somehow becoming a part of their daily schedule, the rage ensuing like clockwork.

But somehow food shopping was safe enough for him to let his guard down, and so Harry relished in it because sometimes that was the only time Louis touched him, talked to him, smiled at him, without it being followed by the anger so constantly pent up inside.

Harry didn’t know why it was different for him, why his anger was never kept so uproariously close to his heart. He buried it low, kept it there because he realized the hard way what it can do when they’re both that way at the same time. And while Harry needed a rock, someone to hold onto as well, Louis needed that more, and Harry was more than willing to be that for him, be the person that would always be waiting for him when he got home.

And he always was. And every night was the same.

But now it’s different, and so Harry lets himself enjoy it because in only less than an hour they’ll be home and Harry’ll be unpacking groceries and Louis will get frustrated and everything will go to hell because with them it normally does.

Harry searches the fruit one last time before sighing in defeat.

“You’re right I think,” he says, “about the pomegranates.”

He turns to see Louis smirk, and turns his mouth down accordingly. “Well come on then, let’s go figure out what sounds good for dinner.”

They walk closely together, shoulders almost touching, the fabric of their shirts catching occasionally as they turned corners. They end up circling the store silently a couple of times, stopping to look at a couple of possibilities only for a second before continuing on. It felt wonderfully strange, being this close with Louis, sneaking touches while biding their time alone here at the store. He didn’t seem to want to leave as much as Harry did, and it made his stomach flutter.

“What do you want to eat tonight babe?” Harry says softly as they walk through the ethnic section for the third time.

Louis’s head doesn’t swivel automatically at the nickname, and Harry pockets it deep within him because it doesn’t happen often. It takes him a couple of seconds, but then he’s looking around to make sure no one has heard.

“I don’t really care much,” Louis sighs, “just want something you’ve made. I’ve missed it.”

So without another word they unanimously decide on tacos because he loves them and Harry loves making them for him. He tries to hide his smile as Louis reaches for the hard shells at the same time Harry grabs the salsa, and then they’re off to the vegetables to pick out whatever Louis’d like to have cooked in them.

While he’s staring very seriously at a couple of red peppers, Harry leans against the slightly damp railing and crosses his arms.

“What’ll we be having for my birthday dinner?” Harry knows it’s a dumb question to ask because there’s no way in hell Lou will ever tell him.

He looks up at Harry from the corner of his eye and Harry smiles when he sees the crinkles there. “You think I’d spoil the surprise for you? Foolish boy.”

Harry laughs. “Well if I’m not cooking then that must mean you are, and there’s only a couple of things you can make anyway.”

Louis scoffs. “I am perfectly capable of cooking on my own, thank you.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at him as he decides one of the red peppers looks good enough to put in his mouth and sticks it into the basket. “Please, every night I was away I could smell the takeout as soon as I stepped in the door. You didn’t do too well of hiding it either, trying to smash the empty boxes underneath the trash.” Harry rolls his eyes with a smile.

“Oi, no making fun or else you’ll get nothing for your birthday.”

“Oh I don’t think I’ll get _nothing_.” Harry lowers his voice around the last word, pushing off from the vegetable rack and grabbing the basket from Louis’s hands, brushing his fingers almost gracefully.

“Unbelievably cheeky,” he mutters back, but Harry can see the fire in his eyes.

They pay for their items, making small talk with Tracy, the cashier that seems to be on shift every time they come in, and she’s simply wonderful because she makes Lou laugh and it’s been a very long time since Harry’s seen him laugh naturally this way.

When they finally get outside, plastic bags strewn along their arms, the wind has picked up and a slight, dewy chill has set in. It’s grey out, matching the color scheme of the buildings and the pavement. But Louis is next to Harry, plastic crinkling against the fabric of his coat, humming “Wouldn’t it be nice” under his breath, face turned up to the sky but feet perfectly capable of leading him home on their own.

“This is fun,” Harry says quietly. It is honestly, because even when things are simple Louis manages to turn them beautiful.

Lou doesn’t stop humming, just lightly leans his shoulder into Harry’s, and that’s all the response he needs because to some bystander it could look like nothing but to Harry it looks like everything.

“So, have you made plans for my birthday yet?” Harry asks as they sidle up to their door. He fumbles slightly with the key before slotting it in the lock.

“What kind of person do you think I am Hazza?” Harry chuckles and Louis bites into his shoulder. “’Course I got plans,” he says huskily.

They step over the threshold and Harry feels Louis drop his bags by the front door. He’s about to turn and tell him off when he feels fingers dig into his hips, lips pressing cold kisses along the back of his neck.

Harry closes his eyes foolishly just as Louis groans, “gonna fuck you so hard into the mattress you won’t walk straight for days.”

“And I’ll have to cover those pictures up then?”

Louis’s fingers fly from Harry’s skin just as his bags drop to the floor. Harry hisses angrily as he hears the salsa glass crack, because he really doesn’t want to clean that up nor does he want to have to go back and buy more. Ignoring the glass, Harry turns to make eyes with Tesla, who is casually lounging on their couch, blazer buttoned too tight around her core. Maybe that’s why she’s such a bitch all the time.

“What the fuck are you doing in our flat?” Harry spits while Louis frantically tries to pick up the broken glass the salsa jar has left. “Don’t remember leaving you a key.”

She snorts and stands up. “Not important, what’s important is that your birthday is only two days away and I don’t want any….” She pauses, glancing between them. “I don’t want any situations to arise out of this particular event.”

“Situations?” Harry mocks, raising his eyebrows so high he wouldn’t be surprised if they disappeared into his hair altogether.

“I understand you, Louis and the boys have some private party planned and that’s fine, all fine.” She waves her hand, dismissing the idea entirely from her thoughts. “However what’s most important is your _actual_ birthday, because of course, there will be no private displays on your _actual_ birthday.”

“You’re kidding,” Louis growls, straightening up from the ground with a pile of broken glass held in his palm. “I’ve already made arrangements-“

“It’s safer that way,” she interrupts. “No one has to know about your own little event. Which means, all publicity lands on the 1st, for the both of you.” She raises an eyebrow, and that’s when Harry realizes they’re not alone.

Sitting on the couch, hidden behind Tesla is a short, timid girl, with red hair and green eyes, cheeks freckled like a painting. Her eyes are soft, but her body is stoic and awkward, like she doesn’t belong, and she’s right, she doesn’t. She keeps glancing between Louis and Harry, and it bothers him somehow, like she’s judging.

“I present to you, the girl next door.”

“That was rather fast, wasn’t it?” Harry exhales roughly as Lou goes to throw out the glass, hurrying back with a towel because spills are in his top five dislikes of all time.

“God, do you really think I was unprepared when we had our little meeting? Despite your hatred for me, I am rather good at my job.”

Harry glares at her, but swiftly turns to meet eyes with the redheaded girl. “What’s your name?” He doesn’t try to sound bitter but right now, with Tesla here, it’s rather hard.

“Andy.”

He snorts. “That’ll get the tabloids rolling.”

Tesla narrows her eyes. “You’re _impeccable_ , aren’t you Styles.”

Harry hears Louis swearing down by his feet and he sighs, running his fingers through the boy’s fringe. “Just leave it babe, clean it up later alright?”

He shakes his head furiously. “I’ll just scream at her if I don’t do it now.”

Harry smiles at the thought but tugs him up anyway. “It’ll do you no good.”

“Won’t do the floor any good either,” he mumbles. “Or my tacos.”

“I’ll go pick some up later, yeah?” Harry kisses his cheek and Louis makes his way around the kitchen counter, throwing the salsa clad towel into the sink a little too aggressively.

“So then what is it, what’s the plan?” Harry grabs the bags from the floor and sets them onto the granite, biting his lip when Lou starts taking everything out and putting it away because he _never_ puts away anything.

“She’s going to come surprise you at your party. Now, I know you’re not as good at acting as your boyfriend over here, but please just act surprised and genuinely thrilled to see her.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but waves his hand for her to continue.

“You’ll make a big show of spending almost the whole party with her, introducing her to people, etcetera. You’ll leave the party with her sometime later, alone, just the two of you.” Her nostrils flare as she looks at Louis. “Not with any of the other boys, not with Louis.”

“And so what should I do then?” He grinds out, smashing the bag of grapes into the fridge so hard they’ll probably bruise.

“You will do nothing.”

“Yes because that looks innocent,” he laughs a little too hysterically.

“Look would you just-“

“Stop!” Harry interrupts, running his hand down his face and sitting down on the stool propped against the breakfast nook. “Tesla, just can we make this for later this afternoon or something? You’re stressing Lou out and you’re stressing me out and it would really just be better if you weren’t here right now.” He looks at Andy. “Either of you. Sorry.” He doesn’t know why he tags on an apology, but he thinks it’s because Andy looks extremely vulnerable sitting there on their couch.

“Fine,” she snaps. “I want you in my office in three hours. Think you can do that?”

Louis groans and Harry clenches his jaw. “Could it just be me, alone?” He’s asking both of them really, because they always come to each other’s meetings, they always know what’s going to happen.

“Please,” they both grunt at the same time.

Then Tesla is ushering Andy out the door and as they pass the look in Andy’s eyes is so sympathetic, so unbelievably genuine that Harry almost regrets disliking her the moment he laid eyes on her.

Even after the door shuts, Lou won’t stop moving. His fingers shake and fumble around the plastic bags, grabbing items and shoving them into places they don’t belong, and Harry knows that sometime later he’ll have to go back through and put them in their rightful places. But he doesn’t worry about that now, because Louis’ trembling and fidgeting and there are no crinkles by his eyes.

“Lou,” Harry says.

He doesn’t look up, just purses his lips and keeps quiet.

“Louis,” Harry says again.

“Well isn’t this grand?” Louis almost shouts, throwing his arms up in the air, hands grasping two giant heads of lettuce.

“Don’t you dare,” he breathes.

“Don’t you dare what? Don’t you dare get angry at the fact that you’ll have to watch the love of your life with a woman? Don’t you dare get angry at the fact that you’ll have to watch him leave with her? Don’t you dare get angry at the fact that I’ll have to come home to the _both_ of you on your _birthday_?”

“Stop! Stop it!” Harry pushes himself up from the stool, pressing the heels of his hands against his throbbing temples. “I don’t want to fight right now, Lou, jesus fucking christ can we just not fight I don’t want to-“

He hears another crash sound and looks to see the jar of olives that they most definitely did _not_ need smashed against the tiles.

“Fuck!” Louis bends down immediately to clean up and a dull ache begins in Harry’s chest. “Fuck fuck fuck! God everything is going to hell! Everything is so fucked up!” And then he can hear the small hiccups, the sobs breaking from Louis’s chest as he desperately tries to scrape the glass off the floor.

“Lou,” Harry mumbles, coming around the counter and bending down next to him. He won’t stop though, so he grabs Lou’s wrists and pins them to his chest. “Louis.”

“Let go of me.” But he doesn’t really want him to, because then he’s falling onto Harry and his fingers grip into the thin cotton of his shirt.

His body is still shaking but he’s not crying anymore, just unsteady, and so Harry wraps his arms around him to keep him safe because Harry doesn’t think he ever feels safe anymore.

“You don’t get to say that,” Harry murmurs into his hair after Louis’ body has managed to slow down a bit. He’s sitting, back up against the bottom cabinets, with Louis clasped onto his chest, legs entangled together.

“I know,” he says softly back. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s just that I see you with her all the time-“

“I know,” he says again, this time pushing up off of Harry and looking him in the eyes. “And I’m a right prat for yelling at you. I’ve felt it when you’ve been with girls before, but I suppose I’ve never felt it as often as you have.”

“No,” Harry answers back simply.

Lou looks at him then, really looks at him, because his eyes are grazing over Harry’s face so gently he feels naked. “You know I love you right?”

Harry nods.

“And you love me?”

“More than possible, I think.”

A small smile twitches at the ends of his lips and Harry runs the pad of his thumb over the creases it makes. He’s so beautiful this way sometimes, when he’s in between like this. He looks so raw, face flushed, eyes small, lips red and swollen, and Harry forgets sometimes that beneath that hard exterior, there’s still Louis, this Louis, his Louis.

“I love you,” Harry breathes, even though they’ve just confirmed that.

Louis’s whole body sighs at that, fingers catching in the curls of Harry’s hair, and then their breath is mingling and his lips are overtaking Harry’s and they feel so familiar it makes his toes curl. Louis’s body flushes against his, not sexually, just intimate in a way that only passes between them. He cups the back of Lou’s neck with his hand, pulling him closer because god it’s been so long since they’d kissed like this, kissed like they loved rather than hated.

More often than not they hated, hated the world, hated management, hated their situation, hated each other. Above all they hated each other.  It drove their passion, leaving angry bruises where love bites should be, hissing battered encouragements rather than letting out the little noises in the backs of their throats they’d both gotten so used to, fallen so in love with.

Harry had been so in love with Louis during x-factor. But he was a dumb kid, a fucking dumbass sixteen-year-old kid that somehow believed a nineteen year old would be interested in, a kid with callused hands, burnt with dough and creased with heat. Finding him was like finding peace. He brought this sort of calm over Harry, and he had gotten so used to it, the way the waves of it would crash against his spine whenever Louis touched him, laughed at something he’d said, looked at him with those _eyes_.

It was the eyes that did it for Harry, the eyes that made him fall in love because Louis Tomlinson is practically nothing without his eyes.

“Do you think this is okay?” he’d asked Harry one day, and he knew it was coming because he could see the look in Louis’ eyes, the way he’d stare at him and then hide it like he wasn’t really sure himself why he was doing it.

Harry had smiled, staring up at the bottom of their bunk where he knew Louis was tossing and turning, waiting for his answer. But soon enough Lou’s head is hanging upside down, staring at Harry like he’s the fucking _sun_ and he just can’t breathe anymore.

“Okay,” he’d nodded, and he could hear Louis release a long, knowing breath. “Everything is okay.”

So when laughing and teasing and touching suddenly became more intimate, neither of them were really that scared, they just knew that they were supposed to do it, were supposed to be with each other in this way, whatever it was called. They didn’t call it anything, just let themselves do what felt right at the time, lazy hands and lazy eyes and brief but languid kisses in Harry’s bunk at night, in the bathroom after they brushed their teeth, by the fridge when Louis wanted Harry to cook him eggs on toast.

It was beautiful back then, real and raw and bright. And then reality hit and they got signed and somehow along the way they turned into monsters.

“Don’t leave,” Harry whispers against his lips, eyes shut tight, and when Louis begins kissing the corner of his mouth, the line of his jaw, the curve of his neck, he knows it’s because he understands Harry means the person that he is right now, in this moment.

“You look so young,” he says against Harry’s skin. “So impossibly young, like my lovely baker boy who slept underneath me and sang until I fell asleep.”

Harry’s breath hitches at that because he’s Louis’s, always been his since the moment they laid eyes on each other. “When did we change? Why did we change?”

“No,” Lou breathes against him. “Just you and me, always been you and me and I’ve loved you and kept loving you and I will never stop.” His hands have wound around Harry’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer to his own body, face buried into his neck. “I love you so much it hurts, that’s never going to change Hazza.”

Harry keeps his eyes closed, head leaned against the side of Louis’s, and lets his fingers sink aimlessly into the caramel sea of his hair. He used to tell Harry these things all of the time, at first just in private, when he knew they were alone and he could whisper it into Harry’s ear as many times as they both desired. Then he started doing it around other people, in front of cameras, during interviews, and it made Harry’s skin prickle because it was so full of color. He was so full of color.

When had all the color finally drained out of him? When had it drained out of the both of them? When had being together –when had _loving_ each other- turned into a battle, a game that never ended, because somehow coming home to each other wasn’t enough anymore. It would never be enough.

“Lou.” He kisses Harry’s adams apple and he lets a content noise slip out between his lips.

“Hm?” He traces the tips of his fingers along Harry’s collarbones, lips pressed permanently against his neck. Harry can feel his body hum against his own, his vibrations echoing along the lines of Harry’s arms.

“I wish….” Harry keeps his mouth open, as if there’s more to say, but there isn’t really.

“Yeah,” Louis sighs.

“Sometimes I wish we could go back.”

He looks up at Harry then and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so wrecked in his life. “Back where?”

“Back to when we could do this and it didn’t have to mean everything to anyone but us.”

Louis’s eyes are glassy now, and he kisses Harry, long and hard, so much it makes his chest hurt.

“I missed you.”

“God I missed you.”

“Don’t go.”

Don’t go.

Don’t go.

They leave those words inked into each other’s skin, kissed there, touched there, fucked there. And afterwards, when Harry’s cupped back into Louis’ torso, his fingers drawing lazy circles against his hip, he lets himself keep this moment because it won’t be here when he gets back.

 

 

 


	3. Part three

The building is looming. Harry stares up at it drunkenly, trying to remember when coming here didn’t mean hiding. He rubs his face, throat dry. This place always makes his throat dry.

He pushes through the giant glass doors for what feels like the millionth time this week, and strides up to the receptionist. She eyes him, face dark, and tells him to go on up, Tesla’s expecting him. She’s obviously still upset about the last time they talked.

The elevator music is irritatingly calm, and it’s a long ride to the twentieth floor anyway, so Harry just leans against the gold railing, ice against his flushed skin, and pretends Louis is standing there next to him even though he’s back home, passed out on their bed where he left him, naked above the covers.

Harry wishes he were here.

The hallway seems twice as deep as Harry winds his way along it towards her office. The lights seem unusually bright, and his legs unusually long. He feels like his strides could take him all the way across the Atlantic.

Harry fumbles with the knob even though his fingers are perfectly capable of working, and after a few seconds of composing the wreck of a person he is, he steps inside.

Andy is sitting at the table, hands entwined on top of the table, and Harry immediately hates how fucking _polite_ she looks, because this is most definitely not a polite situation. Tesla is next to her, mumbling at her phone, but she immediately looks up at him when Harry steps inside.

“Harry, good to see you.”

He’s momentarily shocked by the voice, but it soon fades into relief as he sees Brad sitting in the chair furthest from the door, casually leaned back in his leather chair and beaming like he’s just won the lottery.

“What’re you doing here?” Harry doesn’t hide the small smile that blooms because fuck everything goes well when Brad is here. Louis would be jealous.

Tesla tuts and Harry doesn’t let his fingers curl into fists. “Came to supervise, this one.”

“How are you?” He asks, smile fading and eyebrows knitting tightly on his forehead.

“Swell, thanks.” Harry doesn’t bother to hide the sarcasm.

“Louis is the same I’m guessing.”

Harry just sits in his chair because how on earth do they think they have the courtesy to ask how they’re doing when half of their job is making sure their god damn boy band doesn’t reveal their god damn gay secret.

“Right, we’ll get on with it. Tesla why don’t you continue where you left off earlier.”

“Right,” she sighs. “Look, I mostly got everything said at your flat. I just need you to make sure Louis won’t do anything rash while you two are there alright? He tends to get drunk off his knickers when he’s angry.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Oi.” Brad shoots Harry a warning glance.

“We need this to go smoothly, Harry.” She shuffles her papers. “You need this to go smoothly.”

“And why is that?”

Her eyes are tiny slits now. “You signed a contract-“

Harry laughs out loud because god, she really thinks that works anymore? “That _contract_ is between us, as One Direction with you, our management. You really think that’s going to keep us from coming out?”

The ends of her lips twitch slightly at that. “You’re right. Let me rephrase then, shall I? _Louis_ needs this to go smoothly.”

There’s a high pitched ringing in Harry’s ears, a silence that’s been echoing there since three years ago, and his mouth is so dry he tastes sand.

Pleased, Tesla sits back in her chair. “I expect a smooth flight, yeah? I hope you can put on a good show, you normally don’t. But knowing Elounor isn’t enough anymore, you wouldn’t let those good acting talents go to waste now would you?”

“Tesla,” Brad murmurs. “Perhaps, instead of bad mouthing our client, you could get on with the details?”

Harry tries to breathe but it’s like his lungs won’t inflate.

She raises an eyebrow swiftly but continues on. “After you leave with her we suggest staying in the public eye, making it seem like you purposefully left your own party to spend time with her. Maybe go get coffee or dinner, I honestly don’t care. Just decide so that we know what you’re doing all right? Then make a show of heading back to your flat with her. She’ll need to stay there that night, don’t want to risk paps catching her leaving. She’ll leave early in the morning though, we’ll tip off the cameras, and then the rumors get started. Okay with you?”

“Brilliant,” Harry manages to get out somehow, even though his heart won’t shut up.

“Do make sure to inform Louis,” she sighs contentedly.

He clenches his jaw and stares at the table.

“So, I believe everyone is clear on the circumstances,” Brad murmurs. “Maybe, if it’s fine with you Harry, we’ll give you and Andy a moment? I know it’s not a prime situation, but I think it’d be best if you two got to know each other. Would probably help.”

_Would probably help you better cover up the fact that your boyfriend is your best mate who also travels with you in a boy band and is made out to be straight as a fucking arrow._

“Yeah, probably,” Harry says.

Brad clears his throat, ushers at Tesla, and the two leave the room so quietly Harry waits a minute before breathing again, clutching at the dark wood of the table and wheezing with utmost difficulty.

“Are you okay?” Andy asks automatically, hands awkwardly reaching towards him even though she’s at an unreachable distance.

“Fine,” Harry chokes out. “Just, give me a minute.”

She does, and he appreciates it.

God he wishes Louis were here because right now his hands wouldn’t be empty and his skin wouldn’t be clammy and he would breathe the air Harry couldn’t into his lungs.

Eleanor wasn’t enough anymore; it was proven time and time again. Louis kept her as his beard because if he dumped her after over, what, two years of bored stares and awkward handholding, then people would notice and people would talk and Lou would automatically be gay.

The fucking nerve of people, to stick their noses in the personal business of their lives. Just because they’re famous doesn’t give them permission to run them, to give the final incentive management needed to cover them up because “you’re a _boy band_ for god’s sake, and who likes boys in boy bands? Girls. Girls like boys and girls like boy bands so you will like _girls_.”

 _I will like girls. I will like girls. I will like girls_. He felt like he was in fucking grade school.

Harry closes his eyes tightly and tries to conjure Louis up, crinkles and feathers and caramel, just as he was when Harry left him, skin like silk and lips left parted.

“I’m sorry, you know,” he hears a soft voice come from in front of him.

Louis slips from Harry’s grasp and he lets himself open his eyes. “What?”

“I’m sorry, for all of this. You and Louis shouldn’t be hidden, not with a love like this, that’s lasted through everything I’ve seen happen in the past three years.”

Harry stares at her curiously, red hair slightly tousled and green eyes scared beyond belief. “So then why are you doing this? Why’d you agree to contribute?”

“I – that’s, well.” She gives him a sad smile. “Sort of personal.”

Harry snorts and releases his grip on the table.

“Look, I think maybe it can help too, me covering you two up. Louis seems fragile, and I don’t think he could handle-“

“What the fuck do you know about Louis?” Everything in Harry is erratic because how on earth could she possibly have input to their situation?

She licks her lips and shakes her head. “You’re right, nothing.”

“No, nothing.” He leans back in his chair. “If we’re going to be spending time together then you need to know you can’t say stuff like that. You don’t get to judge us or our situation because honestly no one really knows about it in depth except for us five boys, alright?”

She nods. “You’re right.”

Harry rubs his eyes and sees Louis imprinted on his eyelids.

“Can I ask a question?”

“Sure,” he sighs.

“What exactly is the situation?”

Harry bites his lip and shakes his head. “They didn’t tell you?”

“Not anything really, just that you two were together, had been all this time.”

“That’s true. Been together since x-factor.”

“Figured.” She sounds so _smug_.

“Did you?”

“Look, I know you and Lou don’t really try to keep it a secret. I mean it’s died down a bit recently-“

Harry’s breath catches at that. “Yeah.” He shakes his head and opens his eyes, looking at her, and she seems more relaxed. “It has.”

“So then why hide it?”

“Because Lou couldn’t take it.” Harry scratches his neck. “He’s not – we’re not exactly-“ He feels so heavy. Everything feels so fucking heavy.

“Okay,” she breathes, and when Harry sees her smile, so caring and small, he feels okay.

“Okay,” Harry says back.

“I know we probably got off on the wrong start, with me covering up your lover and all.”

Harry laughs. “Maybe just a bit. Things are sort of give and take with us, you know? Certain moments mean something, people don’t really see them that way but we do. And then you two just popped in….”

“Sorry about the salsa,” she shrugs.

He smiles at her. “Not a big deal, he can live without it till I get home.”

She pauses for a moment, green eyes flickering between Harry’s. “Is he always that way?”

“No.” No, at least he didn’t used to be.

“He seems very passionate.”

Harry likes that word: passionate. Describes Lou well, he thinks. “Yeah, I s’pose he is.”

“Could I meet him again, maybe? If that’s not too much to ask-“

“’Course not,” he interjects. “I think it’d be best, actually. He has a bit of a temper, and given our situation he’s pretty much going to hate you on instinct. I think it’d be good if you two talked, just so he isn’t staring daggers at you from across the room all night, yeah?”

She smiles. “Yeah. Honestly I think he’s intimidating. I’m taller than him but still, if he were staring at me like that from across the _country_ I’d feel it.”

Harry laughs again and he’s feeling a bit better now. “He tends to leave that impression on people.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Very protective.”

“Protective.” He hums around the word.

“So when would be a good time to talk with him? Your birthday is in two days so that doesn’t leave us much time, unfortunately.”

“Not today,” he mumbles. “He needs space. How about tomorrow?”

“Isn’t that-“

“Yeah.” Harry shrugs. “But that means he’ll be up early anyway, and it’s _my_ birthday so he can deal with it for a couple hours.”

“I don’t want to impose-“ she cuts herself short with a loud huff. “S’pose it’s too late for that anyway I guess.”

“You’re okay,” Harry says honestly.

She laughs and it’s high and loud and it reminds him of Louis. “Just okay?”

“Don’t know you too well do I? Not to mention you _are_ cockblocking me and my boyfriend, but hey.”

“I guess that’s true, so I suppose I’ll take all I can get.”

Harry smiles at the table and waits a minute before standing up. “I should be getting that salsa back to Louis soon, he’s probably on his hands and knees throwing a fit at the floorboards.”

“I can understand that.”

Not sure if she does, but Harry doesn’t want to say anything. “Come over at around nine in the morning? That should give us enough time.”

“Sounds good. Thanks a lot Harry, I know-“

“I do.”

She smiles slightly and runs her fingers through her hair. “Okay, see you tomorrow.”

Harry turns to the door and hesitates before saying, “remember, he’ll hate you.”

“I would too,” she sighs.

And Harry leaves it at that, because, well.

The drive home is grey. There are only clouds and chances of rain and cold weather and a blurry fucking windshield. Harry lets his subconscious take him to the market where he picks up another jar of salsa, and then he takes his time going home because he doesn’t want the image of Louis that he has now, so open and tired and soft, to be replaced by something else.

But it’s a short drive, and he tries to ignore the feeling in his gut telling him that the lights that are on in the room with the balcony on the second floor are no longer comforting. Harry holds the salsa in both hands as he pushes the door open and steps inside, shivering at the warmth that envelopes his body almost immediately.

The house is quiet, and it feels empty. Harry strides into the kitchen and places the salsa on the counter, sighing when he sees the mess on the floor still hasn’t been cleaned up.

“Lou?” he singsongs quietly, because some part of him is nervous.

There isn’t an answer, so he slips off his shoes and pads into the bedroom, Harry’s breath drowning with the nervousness.

Louis’ still there, naked and sleeping, arms cupped around a pillow that Harry hopes is meant to be him. His hair is slightly damp, skin dewy against the lamplight, and Harry wonders if he’s been dreaming. He shifts to the bed, pulling off his jumper in the process and lying down beside Louis gently. The older boy stirs slightly, his fingers twitching against the emptiness of the bed, but his eyes don’t flutter open.

“Lou,” Harry breathes, allowing the tips of his colors to trace the curve of Louis’s back and kiss the lines of his jaw, the flowers of his lips.

“Hazza?” He’s groggy, eyes squeezed tight and body contorting up into a small ball. “What’re you doing here? You’ll be late love.”

“Late to what?” Harry murmurs, pressing gentle kisses along his eyelids, smoothing back the fringe from his sweaty forehead.

Louis exhales softly, pushing away the pillow and groping for Harry.

“I’m here,” Harry kisses into him.

“Did you go then?”

Harry nods, letting his face rest in front of Louis’s. “I did.”

“How’d it go?” He opens his eyes briefly, but cringes at the light and buries his face into Harry’s bare arm instead.

Harry smiles. “All right, I guess.”

“I guess,” Lou mocks, biting gently at Harry’s skin and god, it feels so good.

“Were you asleep the whole time?” Harry asks, letting his fingers absently run along his side.

“Hm,” he hums, nodding slightly. “M’tired.”

Harry kisses his neck, his ear.

“Did you pick up the salsa?” Louis looks up now, eyes adjusted, and Harry’s so _happy_ , so unbelievably happy with Louis looking at him like this.

“’Course I did, I’m not daft.”

He laughs and fuck if there was ever a better sound in the whole world. “Good, you know I’m picky about my tacos.”

“I know better than anyone don’t I?”

“You do.” He smiles, wide, and his eyes scrunch up so much Harry can’t tell if he can even see still. “I like that you do.”

He kisses Louis’s open mouth, catching teeth and tongue along the way. “I do too.”

His hands wind into Harry’s hair and pulls him back lazily, lips pressed gently together again, and this time it’s sweeter, softer. Harry relaxes into his body, arms wound around his waist tight, because he never wants to let go of this. Louis tastes like dark tea and rice candy and fruity shampoo because he _always_ uses Harry’s even when his is still full.

“Want to shower love?” Harry whispers against his lips, and the small smile that shifts under his is all the answer Harry needs.

They hold each other as they head into the bathroom, and Louis kindly helps Harry remove his pants, pinned against the wall with his lips making beautiful bruises along Harry’s neck. He pulls away to start the water, and then Louis’ pulling him in by the wrist.

They sit across from each other underneath the spray, touching lightly and kissing delicately. Harry cleans Louis first, full of whispers, and Louis cleans Harry last, pulling him tucked into his back.

Harry rests his head back onto Lou’s shoulder, face leaned into his neck, pressing kisses there with smiles that come so naturally. “You’re so lovely,” Harry murmurs. “How’d you get so lovely?”

Louis smiles down at him and kisses the tip of Harry’s nose with soapsuds. “It’s harder than it looks.”

Harry laughs. “For you, of course.”

He squeezes the younger boy’s side and Harry squeals most definitely unattractively, but Louis’ staring down at him like he’s just seen Harry for the first time, and it forms a lump against his throat. “Don’t tease Harold.”

“But I’m so _good_ at it.”

“Cheeky today are we?”

“Can’t help it,” Harry says, lolling his face up and away from Louis’s neck.

“Well you better if you want a good birthday tomorrow.”

“I’ll have a good birthday anyway,” Harry sighs.

“I s’pose you will.”

He thinks about telling Louis that Andy will be coming over early, that she’ll be here on the day they get to celebrate by themselves to talk with him about the day that they don’t. But he’s here right now and Harry doesn’t think he could take it if he left.

“Can’t believe I’ll be twenty,” Harry chuckles.

“God you’ll be _twenty_? How old does that make me then?”

“ _Too_ old,” Harry laughs. “You’re a cradle robber, Lou.”

“The _horror_.”

Harry sits up and pushes against Louis until he’s lying flat on his back, the spray hitting somewhere near his legs. Harry nestles on top of him, arms propping himself up on either side of Louis’s head, and leans down to connect their lips.

“The _horror_ ,” Harry whispers back.

 

 


	4. Part four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so I'm caught up with all the chapters I've written so far (no more changing from first to third person whoo), and should be updating this fic once a week as well, alongside my other one. it might so happen that I switch off between them, but we'll see how my time works out. thanks for reading!

Harry wakes up to electricity, burning it’s way up his spine and curling it’s way along his shoulders, causing him to take his bottom lip into his mouth, releasing a loud, shaky breath. He’s not quite awake, not sure he wants to be yet, and so he lets his body sink into the bliss creeping its way along his skin.

He can feel pressure start on the insides of his thighs, kneading along with clear intent, and Harry unconsciously raises his hips up to chase the feeling, head still groggy and eyes too tired.

A bright spark ignites in his abdomen and Harry releases a moan then, his fingers moving to grip at the sheets, white-knuckled and numb. He blinks away the sleep, awake now, and nearly passes back out when he lifts his head to see Louis, mouth wrapped around him and hands gripping into his thighs.

“Fuck,” Harry chokes out, his hips moving up again, and he feels Louis push him down against the mattress in response. Harry feels dizzy, woken up by an arousal that sent waves of pent up frustration and ecstasy coursing through his blood stream; so much it was hard to distinguish between reality and dreaming.

It takes a lot of effort not to fuck his mouth with the way his tongue is teasing, and Harry feels flushed already, beads of sweat forming along his neck, mouth open in a silent cry, fingers reaching to grab at Louis’ bed-head.

Harry manages to open his eyes once more against the tide and whimper at the sight of him. A large part of him wants to pull Louis up and kiss his lips, tinged red against the golden creases of his mouth, but then he’s taking in all of Harry and he honestly can’t think straight anymore.

It’s not long before Harry’s crying out, writhing beneath his grasp, fire burning along his legs, _fuck fuck yes Lou god right there please fuck don’t stop-_ tearing from his wrecked lips, and Louis must know he’s close because he releases Harry from the bed, letting Harry’s hips thrust to meet him.

Lou curves his arms underneath him, hands digging into Harry’s arse, supporting him because he was shaking, trembling against Louis’ touch, and he doesn’t think anything has ever felt so good in a post-sleep haze.

“Lou,” Harry whines, out of breath and unable to find more. Louis hums around him and the only warning Harry can give him of the fire burning against his stomach was the chanting of his name, faster and faster until Harry’s tongue just holds onto the last syllable, Louis pushing him back down against the bed as he comes.

He swallows everything Harry has to give before sliding his mouth off of him with a pop. Then his heated lips pulse their way along Harrys hips and up his stomach before ghosting along his jawline.

Harry feels completely and utterly fucked, so tired it takes him a minute before he can open his eyes and take a look at Louis. His pupils are blown, lips bright red and hair so tousled and knotted Harry almost laughs. Lou smiles at him, crinkles breaking out along the creases of his skin where Harry didn’t think creases could be.

“Happy birthday Hazza,” Louis nips into his skin, and Harry smiles.

“Jesus Christ Lou,” Harry breathes out shakily with a slight laugh, closing his eyes as Louis sucked a soft, tender love bite into the part of his neck hidden behind curls. Harry’s fingers find their way back into his hair and Louis sighs at the touch. “I was not expecting to wake up to that.”

“Mm,” he hums, licking Harry’s skin lightly. “Early bird gets the worm love.”

Harry bites his lip, wincing, and moves his fingers down to press into the silky skin of Louis’s back. He keeps them there for a moment before gripping tightly and rolling them both over until he’s on top. Louis looks surprised, but there’s a glint in his eyes that Harry’s not keen to ignore.

Harry kisses him softly, allowing himself to taste, pulling Louis’s tongue into his mouth and sighing with fervor as his body relaxed into Harry’s touch, hands running slowly through sweaty curls.

“You’re beautiful,” Louis whispers against his lips, and Harry just kisses him harder.

Harry lets his hands wander the expanse of the older boy’s chest, moaning softly when he finds that Louis’ naked as well. He curves his fingers along Louis’ arse, pulling him up against his own body before running them swiftly up his thighs. Louis’ incredibly hard, pressing up against Harry’s stomach, and god after what he’s just done for Harry there’s nothing more he’d like than to repay the favor.

Louis quickly breaks their kiss when Harry ghosts over his erection, reaching down to push his hand away. “No Harry,” he pants, “it’s your birthday, this is about what you want, about taking care of _you_.”

Harry bites his earlobe and feels Louis’ heartbeat accelerate against his chest. “But what if I wanna take care of _you_?” Harry kisses into his jaw, smiling as Lou flushed with heat at the words.

But he’s still having none of it and takes Harry’s face in his hands, pulling him back so that Harry’s eyes meet with his. “Later, alright?” He kisses him just like the first time. “I promise.”

“What’re you gonna do about this then?” Harry teases, reaching out to touch him, flushed and red between their bodies.

“God,” Louis moans, but swallows back whatever else he wants and tightens his grip on Harry’s face. “I’ll just have a wank in the shower, yeah? Before I make breakfast.”

Harry doesn’t know which one is more shocking, that Louis’ making breakfast, or that he’d choose a wank over Harry. Harry whines in response, letting his hips graze against Louis’s, closing his eyes almost instantly at the friction.

“Harry,” he tries to protest, but then Harry’s grinding down again and his head pushes back into the pillows, luscious lips parted in a silent “o”.

They both get off this way, Louis’s hands cupped around Harry’s arse, fingers digging bruises and pushing Harry down as he pushed up. One of Harry’s arms is wrapped around Louis’ lower back, the other braced on the pillow beside his head, and Louis’s feet curve desperately into the backs of Harry’s knees, toes curling into his calves with each breathless thrust. They kiss hungrily and then barely at all as their movements became more sporadic, breath mingling, and Louis is releasing soft, throaty whimpers, the kind that send Harry over the edge every time.

Louis comes first, his eyes squeezing shut, and as much as Harry wants to see the blues of his eyes turn into shipwrecks, he buries his face into Louis’s neck instead, whispering his name against the wake of his orgasm along flushed skin.

“You’ll be the death of me Harry Styles,” Louis sighs after they come down, shaky and still trying to breathe.

“Good,” Harry murmurs, kissing his jaw lightly before pushing up to look at him. Louis’s eyes are still closed, face glowing, lips parted and neck red. Harry smiles because he did this to him, made him this way, made him feel beautiful. “Look at me Lou.”

Louis opens his eyes slowly, and as soon as they land on Harry’s face his eyes crinkle up and Harry laughs against him, smoothing back his hair.

“Were you really going to cook breakfast?”

Louis’ whole body shakes with laughter. “Well I was going to _try_. Probably would have ordered something in while you were in the shower quite honestly.”

“God, remind me why we’re together?”

Louis kisses the tip of the younger boy’s nose and Harry bites his lip in adoration. “Because I’m bloody good in bed.”

“Oh yes, that’s it isn’t it?” Harry swoops down and captures his lips, sucking lightly on his bottom lip before pulling away.

And then he’s full of crinkles and laughs and toothy smiles and fingers that seem to know Harry’s body more than he does and skin that blends perfectly with the creams of his and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever found someone as beautiful as Louis, someone whose as beautiful with him.

“God I love you,” Harry says softly, running the pad of his thumb along the lines spreading out from Louis’s eyes.

“You better,” he says back teasingly, but his eyes give him away.

“What would I do without you?”

“Oh you’d be just _fine_ , it’s me who wouldn’t be able to survive.”

Harry knows he’s joking but he creases his forehead anyway because Louis has no idea how wrong he his.

“Who would clean all of my clothes? I’d be walking around naked if it weren’t for you.”

Harry raises an eyebrow and lets the corner of his mouth twitch up. “Maybe I’ll stop doing your laundry then.”

Louis shifts his body closer to Harry’s in response. “You’re cheeky in the mornings.”

“Do you like it?” Harry nips at his jaw.

Louis licks his lips and nudges his nose against the dip of Harry’s cheek. “Just wait until later tonight, love.”

When they finally manage to pull apart, they shuffle their way into the shower, cold water tender against the fire of their skin, and kiss lazily while they wash each other’s hair. They stay in there until they’re shivering and their skin is pruned and then dry one another off, touching like they’d already forgotten what the other felt like.

Harry dresses in black skinny jeans, shooting a glare at Lou when he chuckles at Harry’s feeble attempt to squeeze into them, and pulls a Ramones t-shirt over his head.

“Should I make eggs?” Harry asks as he shakes his hair, reaching for a pair of socks inside the drawer to his right.

“Sounds wonderful Hazza.” Harry can hear the smile there. 

He passes by Louis on his way to the kitchen, smacking his bum playfully as he pads down the low steps leading to their living room. Louis follows him, clad in just a pair of Topman boxers, and Harry loves how comfortable he’s started to feel with him. Harry remembers when Louis used to be embarrassed of his stomach, the sway of his hips, the curviness of his thighs, used to refuse to let Harry see him naked, and when he would, would be red with shame.

He pops up onto the counter, swinging his legs while Harry reached around and behind him to grab things, kissing his shoulders and collarbones whenever he tangled his feet around Harry’s waist “accidentally” and pulled him in against his body.

Harry has just slid the omelets onto their plates when a soft knock sounds from the door.

 _Fuck_. Harry begins to panic, heart racing at the confused look on Louis’ face, because he completely forgot he had invited Andy over to meet them.

“Who could that be?” Lou asks. “I told the boys not to bother us until this evening.”

Harry opens his mouth to respond but Louis’ already at the door, fingers turning the knob and pulling it open with ease.

“Hi Louis,” a gentle voice says, almost as if afraid to speak out of line.

Louis stares for a moment, chest heaving, before turning to look at Harry. “Andy’s here. Why is Andy here?”

“I’m sorry,” she starts. “I should have called-“

“I invited her,” Harry interrupts, because her lying would not help this situation in the least.

“You invited her?” He looks so unbelievably confused and it hurts. “But today’s – it was just going to be you and me Hazza.”

Harry sets the plates on their dining table and walks over to him, interlocking his fingers with Louis’ before he has a chance to pull away. “I know, but I thought it would be good if you two were on better terms before tomorrow, yeah? It won’t take long and there wasn’t any other time to do it.”

“You should have told me,” he says shakily, and Harry’s worried that instead of being angry he’ll just fall apart. “We tell each other everything Harry, you should have told me.”

“El’s been around several times without my knowing, the least you can do is sit down and talk to Andy.” The words come out harsher than Harry means for them to, so he squeezes Louis’s hand reassuringly to let him know he’s not trying to be mad.

“I don’t want to talk to her.” Harry can hear the frustration in Louis’s voice, and he can’t blame him for it.

“I know.”

He turns to look at Andy, whose blushing so profusely her skin almost matches the color of her hair. She’s fiddling with the zipper of her jacket, eyes wide and hopeful. “You can come in,” Lou manages to get out, and Harry supposes it’s a start.

Harry leads Louis over to the table where he makes him sit down and eat his omelet. Harry offers Andy his, but she refuses with a thank you and seats herself down next to him. Lou and Harry eat silently for a while before Harry straightens up and clears his throat.

“I don’t like you.” Louis looks up at Andy, eyes hard and cold and Harry feels sympathy for her because he’s had that gaze focused on himself more times than he cares to remember.

Here we go.

“I know,” she says back softly.

“Do you?” He raises an eyebrow and picks at the mashed eggs on his plate.

“Well I-“

“You do realize you’re a threat to me, don’t you?”

Harry’s breath hitches and he tightens his fingers around his fork, because Louis had never vocalized his feelings this way towards the girls Harry was forced to date before.

“I suppose that’s true.”

“You’ll be taking him away from me, touching him in ways I can never do in public. He’ll be yours to everyone else when he’s _mine_.”

“He’s yours,” she repeats. “I haven’t forgotten that and I won’t forget it later.”

“Don’t agree with me,” he snaps. “If you agreed with me you wouldn’t be here and we wouldn’t have this situation.”

“I have my own reasons,” she snaps back, and immediately leans away from the table in apology. “Look, I’m not out to get you or anything alright? I’ll do the least possible while still doing my job.”

“Yeah, until you fall in love with him.”

“Lou,” Harry interjects, dropping his fork against the table. “Stop it, you’re being ridiculous.”

Louis sighs and puts his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes harshly. “Look I don’t know what you want out of this Harry. I can’t just be friends with her, not when she’s supposed to be covering us up.” He looks up at Harry softly. “You’ve never liked El, no matter how hard I tried to convince you to.”

“I never stared daggers at her in public,” Harry replies back dryly.

“That’s what you think,” he responds, running a hand through his still damp fringe. “Whenever she’s around you just get drunk.”

“We’re not going to talk about that,” Harry murmurs. “You don’t have to like Andy, that’s fine. I just wanted you to meet her is all.”

“Well we’ve met, and I’m quite done honestly. I wanted to spend today with you, away from all of this, and you had to bring it in to our _home_.”

“Just _talk_ to her,” Harry says back forcefully. “That’s all I want. And if we’re still playing by, ‘today is about you’, then how about we start with this, yeah?” He stands up and clears their plates, trying not to stomp his way into the kitchen, and puts them in the sink.

“Harry-“

“I promise I’ll try with you, okay?” Harry hates that he’s saying it, but it wouldn’t be fair if he didn’t. “If you promise to try with me.”

The air is quiet for a moment before Harry hears him release a breath. “Okay.” Then, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Andy says back in response.

“I don’t like you,” he says again, and Harry’s about to tell him off when he clears his throat. “But I’ll suck it up for him, okay?”

Harry braces his hands on the edge of the sink, sighing, because he forgot how it felt to have Louis be this way.

“Okay,” Andy repeats. “And just for the record, I would never – I wouldn’t do anything – you’re very intimidating.” She lets out a loud breath and Harry hears Louis’ bright, booming laughter echo from behind him.

“Christ you say that like I’d murder you in your sleep or something.”

She laughs in response, small and giddy. “I reckon I won’t be then?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Harry turns around then, surprised at their banter but smiling nonetheless. Louis looks up at him as he heads back over to the table and gives a small, questioning smile, as if to ask, “how am I doing?”

“Has Harry told you what’s expected of us tomorrow evening?”

Lou shakes his head, rubbing at the nape of his neck, something he always does when he’s nervous. Before she can jump in and tell him, Harry reaches across the table swiftly and grabs his idle hand in his own.

“I’ll leave the party with her,” he begins. “I’m supposed to take her out for dinner or something, anything public obviously, make a big show of bringing her home, and she’ll have to stay the night.” Louis cringes when he says that, and Harry runs his thumb across his knuckles. “It’s better than me spending it somewhere else.”

“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath and gives a waning smile to Andy. Harry knows then, that he’s ready for her to leave.

Harry looks over at her and she gets the picture, standing up and adjusting her coat. “Thanks, for letting me come over Harry.” She smiles at Louis. “And thanks for not hating me entirely, I suppose?”

“I s’pose.”

“I’ll show you out.” Harry stands up, releasing his grip on Louis and leading her to the door. She steps outside, smiling and waving once more before heading down the hall towards the elevator.

After Harry’s shut the door he turns to find Lou hunched forward in his chair, face buried in his hands, fingers digging into his scalp. Harry wanders back over to him, touching Louis’s back lightly as he heads back to his own seat. But then Louis reaches out and grabs Harry’s wrist, pulling him back to his side.

Harry kneels down next to him, combing his fingers through his hair as Louis turns to look at him. “Everything alright love?”

He grabs Harry’s face in his hands and he leans into the touch with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Louis blurts out frantically. “God I’m so sorry.”

“What are you on about?” Harry furrows his eyebrows in confusion, honestly not sure where this is coming from.

“I know I’m an arsehole most times, and I don’t mean – I don’t want you to think –” Lou kisses him, hard, and he’s taken aback. He pulls away too quickly, leaning his forehead against Harry’s, and Harry can’t will his heart to slow. “You know I love you right?”

“Of course I do Louis,” Harry croaks.

“Even when I’m like this, even when it seems like, like I _hate_ you – “ He cringes and tightens his grip in Harry’s hair. “I don’t hate you, I could never hate you or anything you do.”

“I know.” Harry’s eyes sting and he tries to blink it away.

“And you’ve got to know I’m going to get drunk,” he slurs, and Harry realizes then that his whole body is almost shaking. “I’m going to get really bloody drunk tomorrow night and I’m going to come home and I’m going to hate you.”

Harry pulls him impossibly closer, squeezing his eyes shut and kissing Louis with as much delicacy as he can muster. “And I’ll be here,” Harry breathes against his lips in response, “waiting to take care of you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise not all my smut attempts sucks this much


	5. Part five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so here is the official chapter update for this week!

Dinner had been long. And it wasn’t that Harry didn’t enjoy it, he really had actually. He hadn’t seen the boys, hadn’t spent time with them privately in what felt like forever, so it was nice to catch up, to joke around, to not pretend.

But after the events of the morning, Harry craved alone time with Louis. He wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow, dreaded it to be honest, and he knew Louis felt the same way by the looks he gave Harry across the table, how he’d locked their ankles wordlessly throughout dessert, how he had refused to leave Harry’s side once they’d all settled together on the couch.

It was unfair that they had to think about it all of the time, had to prepare themselves for hiding what they so desperately felt.

But the night had turned out wonderful despite it all. Louis had baked Harry a cake, the idiot, and it was half burnt with store bought icing unevenly spread around the top, a yellow “happy birthday harry” scribbled out in Louis’ unreadable cursive. And fuck it just made Harry want to _cry_ because a piece was already missing and he’d made Harry a cake for christ’ sake and had already eaten a bit like he’d wanted to taste test it or something.

Harry had kissed Lou slowly after that, because he wanted to let him know just how beautiful his piece of shit cake was.

The boys’ gifts were wonderful, even though Harry didn’t need any of them. He got new trainers, a new jumper, a couple of bracelets, and then Louis had fucking come out and promised him a _kitten_ , a kitten of all things, and Harry didn’t really know what to think because he’d always complained of pets, the up-keep, the responsibility, the _smell_.

“Now I’ll have _two_ children in my flat,” he had mumbled happily against Harry’s throat as he hugged him senseless. He’d promised they’d look as soon as the birthday mess was over, as soon as things settled back down.

After that Harry watched Louis kick Niall’s arse in FIFA, encouraging him the whole way and giving him sloppy kisses to the cheek every time he made a good shot. Niall had just muttered about how if _he_ had someone rewarding him with kisses then maybe he’d play better, and Louis just blushed against Harry’s shoulder.

He let Niall score after that, and Zayn tackled him to the ground with kisses.

It was close to midnight by the time the boys got up to leave. Harry hugged them close, whispering thank you’s in their hair even though it was pointless, but they got the idea anyway.

After that Louis and Harry had collapsed into each other, held tight to skin instead of fabric, and dragged their bodies slowly towards their shared bedroom. They washed up together, side by side, and Harry smiled against Louis’ giggles as they kissed with mouths covered in toothpaste.

It’s close to one in the morning now, and Harry can feel Louis breathing deeply against his chest, fingers tracing along his stomach absentmindedly. Harry runs his through Louis’s hair, making knots there, and sigh against his forehead.

“Thank you,” Harry murmurs.

“For what?” Louis says softly, tangling their legs together.

“For tonight,” Harry starts. “It was just what I needed.”

“Good.” Harry can feel Louis’s lips against his collarbone. “Just want you to be happy.”

“Of course I’m happy.” He tugs on Louis’s hair softly and he gets the point, leaning his head back to look at Harry. “You make me happy.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “You make me happy too, Hazza.”

“Well thank god because that could have been awkward.”

Louis laughs and kisses the upturn of Harry’s chin. “You’re an idiot.”

“But you love me.”

“I love you.”

Louis snuggles deeper into Harry’s chest, his nose hidden somewhere between Harry’s neck and shoulder. They stay quiet for a while, both exhausted but not tired enough to fall asleep quite yet. Harry strums his fingers along Louis’s skin, up and down, side to side, and it makes him shiver, his thumbs digging into Harry’s hipbone.

“Hazza?” he says softly after a little bit, lips pressed against Harry’s shoulder.

Harry hums in response, kissing his forehead.

“What do you think we’ll be like in the future?” Louis brings his fingers up to trace along Harry’s neck like he does when he has more on his mind.

“Old,” Harry shrugs. “I’d like to think I’ll still have my hair but who knows, I could go bald at thirty from all the stress.”

Louis laughs and it shakes Harry’s whole being. “You’ll always have your luscious locks.”

“We can only hope.” He pulls Louis tighter against him in mock fear. “Don’t leave me when I’m old and bald alright?”

“Never,” he whispers, so Harry settles down and kisses the crease between his eyebrows.

“What’s bothering you love?”

“Nothing, it’s just-“ He pushes up off Harry’s chest a little bit, wobbly beneath his tiredness, and looks at Harry with half lidded eyes. “When you think about your future don’t you envision a family?”

The corners of Harry’s mouth twitch into a low smile. “Of course I do Lou.”

“So then what about us?”

He furrows his eyebrows, clearly confused. “What are you on about?”

“You’ve never mentioned….” Louis takes a long, shaky breath. “It’s just you’ve never mentioned me before, you know, when we talk about this sort of stuff.”

The starting smile fades from Harry’s lips and he brings his fingers up to Louis’s face, tracing them lightly along the outline of his lips, his jaw, his cheekbones, before cupping the back of his neck gently.

“I didn’t think I’d have to, to be quite honest.” Harry traces his hairline with his thumb. “You know that I don’t envision a future without you, right? After the band, after the fame, I want you, will still want you, will always _need_ you. That won’t, that won’t _change_ Louis.”

His fingers have curled into Harry’s chest, painful but so unbearably okay.

“Seeing myself with a family, with hair, without hair, whatever rubbish I go on about, I imagine that with _you_ , you know that right?”  
  
Louis shifts against him so that he’s flat against Harry’s chest, and brings his fingers to ghost over Harry’s lips, his own painfully shaky, and smiles so adoringly that it fills Harry up so deeply he can’t breathe.

“Okay,” he lets out, eyes crinkling, and leans down to connect their lips. “Okay.”

Harry’s fingers curl around the hairs at the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and wraps his free arm around Louis’s torso, the heat of his chest flush with his own.

“I will always be with you,” he kisses into Harry’s mouth. “I couldn’t leave you, couldn’t-“

Harry whimpers against Louis’s lips, allowing him to pull away and brush away a few sweaty curls before blazing a trail down his jaw.

“I want to be with you,” he whispers into the skin just under Harry’s ear. “I want to start a family with you,” Lou caresses into the freckle of his cheek. “Wanna marry you,” he breathes against the part of Harry’s lips, and the words shoot sparks beneath his eyes, body numb with the pulse of his heart, and while Harry’s mind is preoccupied with the meaning behind the words his body surges forward to meet with Louis’ again, lips locked, tongues reunited, hands tearing at each other like they can’t get enough, could never get enough.

“Okay,” Harry breathes into him as Louis’s fingers curl around the outside of his thigh. “Okay.”

 

~

 

Harry’s not sure when he wakes up, or when he even fell asleep. All he knows is that there’s a bright light shining in through the window beside the bed and it’s cold as hell. There’s an arm draped over him, fingers twitching against his collarbones, and he breathes out softly before turning to look at Louis beside him.

He’s beautiful, mouth slack and still swollen from when Harry had ravished him, pushed him against the headboard, the wall, whatever surface they had been able to find purchase on. He’s got bites and bruises littering his chest, and his brows are pulled back, relaxed and dazed.

He’ll never make it through tonight, Harry thinks. It’s enough to make him push away, roll out of bed and head towards the bathroom. His backside is still sore, and he winces slightly before turning on the shower and getting in beneath the heat, skin pulsing as he grabs the showerhead.

Harry didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want this stupid fucking party. He didn’t want to be here, waiting for Louis to get home, drunk out of his mind, vicious and snarling and _yelling_ , above all. Harry knew he never meant it, not really, the things Louis spewed at him underneath his intoxication. But it was enough to bring up the voices in his head, the ones he had thought to have silenced long ago, buried deep under the covers with Louis in the Bungalow while Harry listened to him murmur I love you’s against the harsh comments littering twitter and facebook.

Louis used to be the calm against the storm, and now he’s become a part of it.

Harry closes his eyes tightly, biting his lip and willing it to just _go away_. Louis deserved someone better than a fucked up closeted gay kid, still pent up on a crush he had been harboring since they’d met in the toilets. And the thing is, he knows Louis feels the same, felt the same, or whatever. But he can’t help feeling like he’d pushed him, too close, too far. Louis deserved someone better than Harry, deserved someone he didn’t always have to get drunk to be with, didn’t always have to yell at to feel something other than _nothing_.

Harry hears the curtain to the shower get pulled back, and strong, sure arms wrap around his waist. He represses the shudder building along his spine as Louis kisses there, gently and breathlessly. And god, he can’t stop fucking _shaking_.

“Hey,” Louis murmurs, and the concern in his voice is enough to bring Harry over the edge.

Louis catches him, leans him back against the tiles as Harry grips at his wet hair, eyes stinging with tears that won’t come.

“Hazza,” Louis breathes against his forehead, arms strong around his torso.

And Harry was so fucking dumb, so _naïve_ to think that he was the one that kept them together, that kept Louis together.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the open air between them.

“Stop,” Louis says, lips pressing against Harry’s softly. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I don’t want to go to my party.”

“Then we’ll stay in. Watch Love Actually and eat shitty takeout.”

Harry snorts, but it doesn’t give way to the ache in his chest. “Yeah right.”

“Harry.” Louis’s fingers gently coerce Harry’s away from his curls. “Love, look at me please.”

Harry opens his eyes to him, drowns instantly in the shattered blue there. “I love you,” he trembles.

Louis has his forehead creased, lips pursed and angled down, fond and beautiful and sad all at once. “I love you too,” he says back, brushing against Harry’s cheekbones. “And we’re going to survive through this, just like we’ve survived through everything else, yeah? We’re strong. We can take the lies.”

Harry shuts his eyes again, lips a mess. “I’m not sure I can.”

Harry can hear Louis’ breath hitch almost instantly before he slams Harry back up against the tiled wall again, jarring his eyes open as the breath is knocked out of him.

“Don’t fucking do that,” he growls, eyes watery. “I’m going to stay here with you and you’re going to stay here with me. Just like we’ve always done, because I fucking love you and you can’t just _do that_.”

Harry stares at him then, body slumping impossibly into his. “Did you mean what you said last night?”

Louis looks confused for a moment before his jaw goes slack with recognition. His hands come up then to cup the back of Harry’s neck, thumbs brushing against his jaw and up to trace the curve of his bottom lip. “Of course I did,” he whispers. “Did you?”

“’Course not,” Harry grumbles out affectionately. “Didn’t even give me a proper proposal now did you?”

“What, you want me to get all domestic? Get down on one knee?” There’s a small smirk playing out on the ends of his lips.

“No,” Harry smiles.

“Yeah,” Louis says huskily, before leaning in to trap Harry’s lips with his own.

 

~

 

Harry watches from across the small table as Tesla talks with Louis, his legs twitching and fingers tapping incessantly against the hardwood. Harry can’t really make out what they’re saying, but he knows it must be about what’s expected of tonight. Louis looks up once or twice, eyes trained on Harry, and the look there is so confusing that he has to look away.

“You excited?”

Harry turns to see Andy standing awkwardly by the empty seat next to him, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her green dress. She looks like a Christmas ad.

“You know, it’s long past the holidays,” he murmurs, turning to look back at Louis and Tesla.

“Yeah well, they thought it’d look good with my red hair and all.” She reaches up idly to touch the soft strands.

Harry snorts but makes no move to answer.

“So, you’re twenty today huh?”

“I guess.”

Andy seems to catch on to Harry’s distraction, clearing her throat and looking over there with him. “Any idea what they’re talking about?”

“No clue. Probably just details about tonight though I’m sure.”

“It looks awfully serious. Louis doesn’t look too happy.”

“Andy.”

“Right, I’m sorry. Keeping out of your personal business. I don’t know Louis, yadda yadda.” She slouches in her seat, scuffing her heels against the linoleum and she looks the picture of young.

“I just want to get tonight over with,” Harry murmurs softly. “So please don’t take any hasty actions on my part personally. I just really don’t want Lou to get drunk tonight.”

“He an angry drunk?”

Harry turns to look at her, fuming. “You’ve no right to ask shit like that. I’m trying to like you Andy, I really am. And I’m trying to help Louis to like you too. But _shit_ you can’t just-“

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” She looks confused, like she knows she shouldn’t have said what she said. “I was completely out of line.”

Harry closes his eyes and leans his head back against the headrest. “He’ll yell either way.” The words are just for him though.

 

~

 

The music is too loud and the food over-filling. Nick is being a shit and Harry can’t stop staring at Louis out of the corner of his eye, watching nervously with each drink he takes from the bar, Elounor clinging to his side. Harry’s fingers won’t stop twitching, as if they’re just aching to make contact with him, and so he has to keep them tucked inside his pockets most of the night.

It’s probably halfway through his party, having said his hello’s to all those he knows, and making polite introductions with those he really doesn’t, when he hears his name being shouted from behind him.

 _This is it_ , Harry thinks, closing his eyes. _Time to put on a show_. He turns around on his heel, eyes wide as he takes in Andy, hair straight and shining and her face covered in makeup. Her smile is so big, so believable. Harry returns it just as quickly, stumbling through the crowd as people turn to watch.

“Andy?” He throws himself onto her, can hear her laughter bubble up against his chest. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Heard you were turning twenty you ditz, wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Can’t believe this,” he huffs out, pulling away from her. Harry hopes his smile is as believable as hers. “I haven’t seen you in what, five years?”

“Since you ditched me for fame,” she mocks, tugging slightly at Harry’s bicep and fuck, she’s good at this.

He lets himself just smile at her, can see everyone else staring at them from the corners of his eyes. “Here come on, want to introduce you to some friends.” Harry extends his hand for her to take before pulling her through the crowds, throwing smiles at all the questioning glances.

Harry introduces her to Nick first, laughing along to fake banter and making up stories between each other. It’s almost easy really, the way their words flow off each others, making something he thinks might actually be half believable. After that he takes Andy around to others, repeating the same nonsense, laughing the same laugh, smiling the same smile, all the while her hand is tucked inside his.

He feels like a cheater.

When they make it to Louis, Harry’s chest is aching painfully hard. It’s even worse with Eleanor here, and Harry has this weird sort of déjà vu, both of them here together, hiding behind girls because they can’t hide with each other. And he just really wants to hold Louis’s hand, feel his support against the spaces when really the distance between them is so small.

Look at how far we’ve come, he thinks. Look at us now.

Harry kind of wants to throw up.

He and Andy do their whole spiel again, but they sort of fade out of it the further in they get. Louis and Eleanor know, they get it, and so does everyone else. Harry can see how flushed Louis’s cheeks are, the way Eleanor’s hand seems to be keeping him steady.

“How many glasses have you had?” Harry murmurs quietly.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Who are you, my mum?”

Harry throws a glance up at Eleanor but she doesn’t have anything to say. “Just get him home safely,” he says softly before turning back to Lou. “I’ll be home in a couple of hours, I promise.”

“Yes, yes, Harold, with _her_ right?” Louis laughs even though it isn’t funny.

Harry just presses his thumb against the older boy’s hip gently before turning and heading towards the exit with Andy in tow.

 


	6. Part six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize ahead of time for how depressing this all is.

There’s a high pitched ringing settling inside Harry’s ears, bright against the white noise, blinding everything in broken fragments, faces like backdrops behind his eyelids.

There’s a high pitched ringing settling inside Harry’s ears, like a bomb’s gone off, and he doesn’t feel whole anymore.

He keeps his lips up, his teeth showing, his eyes small, because it’s all on auto pilot now, mostly. There are flashes of lights, flashes of faces, flashes of questions, and it’s enough to remind him to keep his hand tight, grasped around someone who isn’t Louis.

Harry blocks everything out because he’s not entirely sure how to do anything else.

Someone knocks into his shoulder and suddenly everything is so _sharp_ and crisp and his ears hurt and his eyes hurt and he can make out Andy beside him, her lips a constant movement against the chaos behind them.

_Are you okay?_

Harry’s chest constricts, and for a moment he thinks maybe he’ll pass out, collapse against the sidewalk thinking of three years ago.

_Yeah._

Andy doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t have to be.

_@inlovewithlarry: @Harry_Styles you’ve lost my respect tonite_

_@jogordan12:@Harry_Styles  ur such a faggot_

_@onedirectionluvr11: happy bday @Harry_Styles who was that grl at ur party???_

_@larryisreal: I love you @Louis_Tomlinson even if @Harry_Styles doesn’t!_

_@bros4ever: omgg happy birthday @Harry_Styles!!! ur new gf is so pretty_

_@hardcorelarry: @Harry_Styles how could you do that to @Louis_Tomlinson??_

~

 

Harry wakes up to a throbbing in his bones that won’t go away. The bed is too cold, or too warm, he’s not quite sure. Either way, it’s half empty, and it sits painfully in Harry’s chest. He spreads his fingers hesitantly along the dip of the mattress on Louis’ side, cold and dark, before digging his nails into the sheets. He grasps at them desperately, shifting his body until he’s lying against where the flat of Louis’ back should be, closing his eyes again and wishing, wishing, wishing.

 

~

 

When Harry wakes up a second time it’s because someone is humming from somewhere outside their bedroom door. He pushes himself up gingerly, joints popping, before tossing his hair back away from his face and making towards the kitchen.

It’s dim in the hallway, harsh against his eyes, and he brings a hand up to rub at them as he turns into the living area. The kitchen light is on, basking the hardwoods in a blue glow, and Harry can make out Louis standing by the sink, his dress shirt wrinkled and tie undone.

“Lou?” Harry’s voice is raspy against the silence of the flat.

The older boy looks up quickly, startled, before exhaling loudly, fingers digging ghost white into the countertop. He has his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth slack, looking at Harry like he’s not really sure how he’s even there.

“How are you feeling babe, all right?” The words leave Harry’s mouth almost instantly, breath harsh between them. “Want to come to bed?”

“Not tired.” Something about Louis’s voice is off and Harry just knew, _knew_ this was going to happen, so angry in the back of his mind.

“Are you hungry?” he tries instead. “I could make you something if you’d like.”

“Not hungry.”

Harry lets his eyes close, wishing, wishing, wishing.

“Didn’t think you’d be home.”

Harry opens his eyes slowly at that, swallowing around the lump forming in his throat. “I told you I would be.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, dropping his head between the space of his shoulders. “Didn’t think you would be, though.”

Harry moves himself until he’s next to Louis, fingers coming to rest between the older boy’s shoulder blades. “Lou – “

“Don’t touch me.” The words are low, hushed, and so Harry doesn’t pay them any mind. He trails a path along his spine before coming up to cup at the back of Louis’s neck, jerking back in shock as Louis grabs his wrist harshly and pushes him away. “Don’t touch me,” he says again.

Harry’s not going to cry. He promised himself a long time ago that he wasn’t going to cry.

“So what,” Harry starts, “you just gonna stand here then?”

“Leave me alone.”

“No. Fuck you Lou, you know? I’m not going anywhere.” Harry slumps against the counter, curls catching in his eyelashes.

Louis breathes out harshly through his nose, fingers knotting in his hair. “I just want to be alone, Harry.”

“Well that’s too bad, isn’t it.”

“Christ!” Louis yells, back snapping up so fast that Harry can’t react fast enough. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” It comes out as a whisper.

Louis squeezes his eyes shut and Harry is so, desperately scared. “I don’t _want you here_ , okay?”

Harry looks up at the lights, tries to swallow away the tightness in his limbs. “Okay.” He waits a moment, listens to Louis breathe ragged in the space between them, before turning and heading back to bed. When he passes back through the hall Andy is standing in the archway of the guest bedroom, eyes wide, but he doesn’t say anything, just lets Louis’ words paint his room in all the colors of red.

Harry shuffles underneath the duvet, skin prickling, and closes his eyes.

_I don’t want you here, okay?_

 

~

 

“Haz.”

Harry opens his eyes to pitch black. He can feel Louis’s lips against the back of his neck, trembling around Harry’s name, his hands resting along the dips of Harry’s waist.

“Hazza, love.”

The words are broken and muffled against his curls. Harry doesn’t want to move.

And then Louis starts humming again, and this time Harry can make out the tune. He shuts his eyes against it, curling in on himself, and he feels Louis just pull him in tighter, bodies flush against the bed.

“Harry,” Louis sobs.

He turns around in the other boy’s arms this time and finds him there, small and still completely clothed. His eyes are rimmed red and there are deep bruises of exhaustion wrapped around his cheekbones, eerie against the pale of his skin.

“Hi,” Harry tries, soft and quiet.

“Hi,” Louis breathes back, hand coming up to cup Harry’s jaw gently. “Hi.”

Harry doesn’t say anything more, just looks.

“I’m sorry,” Louis gets out desperately. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“Did I hurt you?” His free hand traces the curve of Harry’s wrist, limp against his chest.

Harry looks, and looks, and looks. “No,” he whispers.

“Harry I didn’t – “

“Lou.” Harry presses closer, his nose against Louis’. “I should have left you alone.”

“I don’t want you to,” Louis breathes. “I didn’t want you to.”

Harry can’t blink, doesn’t want to blink.

_I don’t want you here, okay?_

“I want you here,” Louis says against the outline of Harry’s chin. “I want you here.”

He closes his eyes then, lets the feel of Louis’ lips consume him; fire and pit, dark hole. “I was scared.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis trembles.

“I was scared tonight too. It wasn’t fair for you to leave me like that. I needed you, Lou, I – “

Louis’ lips cut him off, soft and rough, tidal wave after tidal wave. They say things his words can’t, kept between their tongues. _I need you too. I needed you too._

He hums between them, lips breathless against Harry’s as they wrap each other up, dark against the duvet.

 

~

 

Harry wakes up first, head pounding and stomach knotted into two pieces. Louis is pressed into the mattress, one arm draped across Harry’s chest, lips parted and snoring softly against the sheets.

Harry loves him. Fuck, Harry doesn’t think there’s even a word to describe it. Louis consumes him, molds him, presses into him with words and fingertips and it’s _terrifying_. It’s like all his life there was this spot for him, nestled away deep in his chest, didn’t even know about it until he saw him in the reflection of the mirror and then it was like he couldn’t _breathe_ anymore, didn’t want to breathe anymore.

He had taken so much out of Harry, still does and will probably never stop. But Harry loves it, loves giving it to him, loves the way it makes him shift.

But then things like last night happen. Things like last night are always going to happen. And Harry’s not so sure anymore how much he can keep giving, how much of him is even left that isn’t somehow Louis.

Harry runs a hand down his face slowly before turning and rolling out of bed, careful not to wake the boy beside him. He pulls one of Louis’ shirts over his head, a pair of shorts on his hips, and makes towards the rest of the house.

There’s no sign of Andy. The guest bedroom is empty, door ajar, and her stuff is gone too. Harry hopes the paps are fucking happy.

He grabs the keys resting against the tabletop before slipping on his tennis shoes. He doesn’t want to run, not really, but the idea is already making him calmer.

As soon as he’s outside he’s swarmed. It’s giving him a headache, reminding him of last night, and so he pushes towards his car, trying to block out their words and cameras with silence.

“Harry! Harry!” A man pushes through, recording device in tow, and pushes it at his face. “Any comment on your best friend getting engaged?”

What?

“What are you on about?” Harry asks dumbly.  

“Louis and Eloeanor,” the man yells back, “at your party, last night. Any response?” He shoves a magazine into Harry’s face, and with shaking fingers he takes it, eyes scanning over the picture posted on front.

It’s blurry, but it’s there.

_What, you want me to get all domestic? Get down on one knee?_

Harry can’t, can’t –

He throws up all over the sidewalk, and there are pictures and there is yelling and there is Harry’s hand scraped against the brick wall of their flat and he did not see this coming, did not see himself here at all.

_You should have told me. We tell each other everything Harry, you should have told me._

Harry pushes against the paps, stumbling back in through the door. His fist is still wrapped around the magazine as he drags himself into the kitchen, fingers clenched painfully hard against the counter as he vomits into the sink, tears stinging at his eyes and lungs screaming.

“Hazza?”

Harry can hear him creak against the hardwood, and he can feel him as he turns the corner, breath hitching.

“Harry.” Louis is at his side almost immediately, fingers pulling back his hair from his face and _god_ , Harry’s never loved someone so much in his life.

Harry pushes the magazine into Louis’s chest, wiping at his mouth.

“What are you - ?” Louis un-crumples it, and Harry can feel his fingers fist tighter into his curls.

“At my party.” The words sound hoarse, like they aren’t even his. “On my birthday.”

“Harry, please.” His words are whispered and it makes Harry so _angry_ , because he has no right, no fucking right. “I did it for you. I did it to protect you – “

“No!” Harry’s startled by his own rage. “You’re not trying to _protect_ me. It’s _ruining_ me Lou, fuck.” Harry lets himself cry, his body so screwed up that it just comes anyway. “Can’t you see it’s ruining me?”

“I’m trying here,” Louis says back, voice louder. “I’m trying really bloody hard, so I’d really appreciate – “

“You,” Harry fumes, breathless, as he turns to face Louis, “have taken _everything_ , I have had to give.”

Louis swallows loudly, eyes blinking away a wetness Harry wants to punch right out of him. “It’s not real,” he tries.

“For how long?” Harry asks. “Are you planning on coming out any time soon, then? Before I’m forced to stand next to you as your best man?”

“Harry – “

“ _Fuck you_.” It feels like he can’t breathe all of a sudden. “How dare you come in last night and _hate me_ for this after what you’d just done.”

“I didn’t come in hating you,” Louis answers. “I came in hating myself. That’s why I couldn’t be around you, didn’t want you touching me – “

“And what, cuddles and declarations and humming a god damn song about secret lovers is going to win me back? After you – “ Harry cuts himself off, wheezing, because he can’t say it, can’t fucking say it.

“I love you.”

Harry leans back against the countertop, fatigued and broken. “You love me.”

“Yes,” Louis whispers, reaching out. “I love you.”

“You can’t marry the both of us.” The words are hot as they rise up Harry’s throat, burning his mouth.

Louis stops. “What? Don’t be stupid.”

_What?_

“That’s just a fantasy, Harry, you _know_ that right? Those things we say – “

“What,” Harry breathes, “are you talking about?”

“This is our reality, Harry,” Louis murmurs. “This has always been our reality. We can’t just expect to get married – “

“So what, all that big talk of imagining our future and being with each other through it all, that’s what, dead?”

Louis doesn’t respond.

“Or worse.” Harry can’t, can’t – “It’s still there, just buried under lies and the covers of our fucking duvet while the whole world thinks you're married to Eleanor fucking Calder.”

“Please try to understand,” Louis blurts out desperately, “I _love_ you – “

But Harry’s leaving, grabbing the keys from where he’d dropped them earlier and pushing out the door, lungs on fire, body on fire, whole fucking world and universe on fire.

“Harry!”

He’s shoving through the paps, towards the street, and he’s not entirely sure where he’s going but he’s never going to get out of here in his car and he just needs to _leave_. Maybe he’ll go to Liam’s.

“Harry please, would you just wait!”

He doesn’t know why Louis is chasing after him, why he thinks they could possibly have this conversation outside in front of a swarm of cameras, but he turns anyway, backs of his heels hitting the curb across the street.

“Don’t run from me,” Louis says, coming to a stop in front of the parked cars, hunching over to catch his breath. “After all we’ve been through, please.”

Harry closes his eyes briefly, inhales sharply. “I’m going to stay at Liam’s.”

“Harry,” Louis chokes out.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His answer comes out as a whisper. “I didn’t know how.”

“We’ve known each other for four years,” Harry says. “You’ve been my best mate for four years and you _didn’t know how_?”

“Just come back, come home, please, we can sort it all out there – “

“No.” Harry shakes his head. “I need to leave, I need to just, fuck.” He rubs at his temples. “ _Louis_.”

“Please come home,” Louis says softly. “I promise, we’ll – “

And Harry wants to lash out at him, wants to tell him _no I don’t think I can ever come back home_ , wants to tell him _I don’t think I can love you anymore_ , wants to tell him, _I can’t stay in this closet forever,_ but he’s cut off rather abruptly by the sound of a blaring horn and flashing lights and he can’t see, can’t bloody see, until he’s blinking fast against the sounds of screeching tires on pavement and the very sudden, empty street.


	7. Part seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case you don't catch on, this chapter is a flashback. also I should stop writing smut forever.

~

 

“Harry, I know you think you’re some proper chef or something, but I swear to god if you try to grab my knife again I will stab you with it.”

Harry whines as Louis slaps his hand away for the third time, wiggling his hips to try and push the younger boy away.

"Just let me help – “

He turns halfway around to get a good look at Harry, lips parted into a smirk. “Don’t make me kick you out of this kitchen.”

“Kick me out?” Harry scoffs, reaching for the knife again.

“Hazza! Christ babe, it’s like watching somebody else cook for you gives you the bloody plague.”

Harry tries not to blush at the pet name, biting his bottom lip instead and resuming to look over Louis’s shoulder. “’S not even your kitchen,” he mumbles half-heartedly.

Louis just laughs, and even though he’s cutting those vegetables _all wrong_ and is probably one slice away from taking his finger off Harry just smiles with the sound, glancing at Louis’ profile like all the answers to the world are hidden there.

“Do you see anyone else trying to claim it?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “No you twat, nobody else is even _here_.”

“Right. Which means the kitchen is mine. Now, _get_. I can’t concentrate with you breathing over my shoulder anyway.”

Harry turns around with a huff and takes a seat in one of the lounging chairs sitting against the table. Molly’s guitar is still out, and so he reaches to grab it, tucking it in against his chest and trying out a few chords.

Louis hums happily, peering over his shoulder. “You gonna be a rockstar now curly?”

Harry snorts. “You _wish_.”

Louis sways back against the countertop, cooing as he presses his wrist back against his forehead. “Oh Harry, you’re so hot and _talented_. Quick, whisk me away to your bed!”

Harry throws his head back as a cackle rips through him, his fingers gripping hopelessly to the strings of the guitar. When he’s able to open his eyes again Louis is looking at him, mouth quirked up and knife hanging daintily by his side.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Louis says before turning back around.

“So, what _are_ you cooking us?” Harry asks, looking back down at his hands.

“ _Us_? Who said I was making anything for _you_?”

“Hey,” Harry drawls out, furrowing his eyebrows. “But I’m _hungry_.”

“You’re a cook aren’t you?”

“ _Lou_.”

Louis sighs. “You are so _whiny_ tonight Harold. Just, calm your tits. Of course I’m making some for you too.”

“I haven’t even got any boobs,” Harry laughs, plucking a few strings dumbly.

“Ah yes,” Louis replies. “If you had I would have touched them by now.”

Harry turns his mouth down. “Lou.”

The knife stops against the cutting board and Louis’s shoulders grow tense. “Don’t.”

Harry ruffles his hair before pushing it across his forehead, coughing lightly. “’S just me you know.”

Louis goes back to cutting without a word, but Harry thinks he hears him murmur, “that’s the problem though, innit.”

They stay in a comfortable silence after that, and Harry ditches the guitar for singing, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling. He counts the pocky marks there, fingers resting lightly against his thighs.

“Are you ready for our next song?” Louis asks quietly after a while. “Sounds like you’ve been practicing.”

Harry smiles. “Yeah. Does it sound okay?”

“’Course it sounds okay,” Louis sighs. “You always sound okay.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re like our very own John Travolta.”

Harry perks an eyebrow. “What d’you mean?”

Louis slams the knife down, swiveling around to stare at Harry with eyes so big he could just fall right in. He thinks he might not mind if he did. “Don’t tell me you’ve never watched Grease, then?”

“Can’t say I have.”

He ends up forcing Harry down onto the communal couch with him, popping Grease into the DVD player. He mouths along to the words, but when Harry starts watching him he gets braver, making a spectacle of it, belting the lyrics and dancing against the cushions.

Harry loves watching Louis like this, all large actions and little words. It fits him perfectly, Harry thinks, because he’s never really been that way, likes watching the way Louis uses his body to fit holes in the world Harry didn’t think really existed instead. He thinks he could call it beautiful, could call Louis beautiful. He’s all wild eyes and frayed hair and sharp bones and it’s uncanny really, how all those things add up to this one person, this one person Harry thinks rests somewhere along his heart.

Harry’s known for a while now how he’s felt about Louis. It was like a long, sighing shrug, inhaling on _you_ and exhaling on _oh_. It was okay. Harry was okay with it. He’d never _not_ been okay with it. But Louis was a different story, a story that he wasn’t particularly comfortable talking about. And Harry could be okay with that, if he tried to be. He wanted to give Louis his time, or space, or whatever. He didn’t want Louis to feel pressured by him.

But that didn’t stop him from going along with it when Louis allowed him to.

Louis’ got him dancing now, pressed against him while he pretends to be the Danny to his Sandy, dinner long since forgotten. And Harry thinks he could kiss Louis right now, not that he doesn’t think about it a lot. Like when they’re in the middle of an interview and Louis is playing with Harry’s hair, thighs touching, or when Louis sits next to him in the van, chatting with the boys, their knees knocking in a silent rhythm, or when they’ve just finished a performance, sweaty and gross but Louis is smiling at him like he’s the only thing in the world anyway.

And Harry thinks about it, thinks _I would kiss you right now if the cameras weren’t pointed_ , thinks _I could love you in front of the whole world if the cameras weren’t pointed_ , thinks _I would love you anyway_.

Years later he’d realize that maybe that’s where he went wrong.

“ _Harold_ ,” Louis scoffs, “are you even paying attention to the dance?”

Harry smiles, low and soft. “Sorry, you’re a bit distracting.”

Louis’ cheeks tinge pink at his words, his mouth turning down into the slightest of frowns to keep from smiling. “You can’t say things like that, you know.”

Harry cocks his head to the side. “And why not?”

Louis stops dancing, fingers coming up to tug gently at one of Harry’s curls. “It makes it awfully hard not to kiss you.”

Harry’s breath catches in his throat, and his next words come out choppy. “So why don’t you?”

“Harry.”

“Lou.” Harry licks his lips, sees Louis’s eyes flicker down to watch before returning to his face. He leans forward a bit, smiling hesitantly when he notices that the older boy doesn’t move back, and rests their foreheads together, noses brushing.

“Harry,” Louis whispers. It sounds like a warning.

“It’s just me Lou,” Harry says roughly, aching to kiss him but waiting, always waiting.

“That’s the problem though,” Louis breathes against his lips. His words taste like English Breakfast.

“Doesn’t have to be,” he murmurs, furrowing his eyebrows. He watches the way Louis’s adams apple bobs tensely against the gold of his throat, and he reaches out without thinking, trailing his fingers there, feeling the way Louis swallows against his touch.

“God,” Louis sighs, and Harry feels his fingers grip his shirt restlessly. “How is this so easy for you?”

Harry feels himself shrug. “Because it’s you.”

He watches Louis close his eyes.

“I won’t be able to stop.” He’s not really sure what he’s specifying.

“Me neither,” Louis whispers, and then he’s kissing him, bright and colorful and _real_. It’s tender for a moment, while they gasp into each other’s mouths and try to reclaim their breath, but then Louis is tugging harshly at Harry’s curls and Harry is shoving him not so gently against the back of the couch, tongue grazing against his bottom lip.

“Harry,” Louis chokes out, before opening up his mouth to him, tongues sliding together in one quick movement and it’s like everything just clicks together; their breath, their bodies, and Harry can’t really feel himself anymore, just the parts where Louis is touching.

Harry wants to touch him, wants to feel him so close, skin against skin. He rucks his fingers up underneath the back of Louis’s shirt, hands pressed against the curves of his skin. It’s beautiful; feels like sunshine, and Harry just wants to drown in it.

“This okay?” he breathes into Louis’ mouth, fingers teasing, and Louis just makes a soft approving sound in the back of his throat, his hips rutting slightly against Harry’s thigh.

Harry feels lost in Louis’s mouth, lost in his breath and hands and body, and when he feels the hard outline of Louis’s cock against the jut of his hip he can’t quite help getting lost a little bit more.

“Can I touch you?” He breaks away from Louis’ hold, lips pressing open mouthed and sloppy along the slant of his jaw. He’s practically dying for it, to see the way Louis looks when Harry takes him apart.

“Yeah, Harry,” he gets out, head tipping back in invitation.

Harry latches on to the skin there, tasting salt and heat and captured sun. He runs his fingers along the expanse of the older boys torso, letting loose a small whimper at the feel of Louis’s muscles beneath his touch.

Louis tightens his fingers in Harry’s hair at that, pulling him closer even though they can’t possibly be any closer, and pushes his stomach up into Harry’s fingers. He dips them underneath the waistband of Louis’ ridiculous star-printed briefs, smiling around his ear, before dragging them along the inside of his thigh, up, up, up, until –

Louis bucks his hips up, a strangled whine breaking form his throat. “Kiss me.”

Harry does, open and messy, and he hopes it’s a mirror of what he’s been keeping inside, of the _look at everything I want to show you_ , of the _look at everything I want to make with you_. He tightens his fingers around Louis’s shaft, hard and hot and already leaking against the back of his hand. He moves his fist slowly at first, squeezing at the base and running his thumb along the tip, listening to the way Louis breathes harshly into his mouth, wet and desperate.

Harry picks up a rhythm, biting and sucking into Louis’ bottom lip as the older boy thrusts lazily into his hand, breath too fast and unable to kiss back. He’s beautiful, flushed and open against the back of the couch, sweat glistening along his brow, eyes closed tight against the feeling Harry’s giving to him.

Harry moans, moving to rest his forehead against Louis’s shoulder, because he feels so _good_ , so pliant underneath him, and Harry’s already half hard, Louis’s thigh only relieving some of the pressure.

Louis notices, breath hot against Harry’s ear as he kisses him there before moving a hand from his curls down to the waistband of his pants, tugging it gently as if asking for permission. Harry speeds his hand up in answer, biting his lip against the moan that echoes against his cheek.

As soon as Louis’s hand is on him, Harry thinks he’s going to die. It’s different from him and it’s different from girls, from other boys’ he’d let touch him, and it’s just _different_. Everything with Louis is different. His fingers drag along Harry’s cock like a whisper, making it burn, making it ache, and Harry is so terribly, embarrassingly close already.

“Lou,” Harry whines, rubbing his thumb along the tip of the older boy’s cock, desperate to take him down with him. “Shit.”

“Come on,” Louis murmurs breathlessly into him, hand tugging and pulling, body tugging and pulling, magnetic and rough and terrible, and Harry spills over him with a silent cry, mouth slack, and it trembles through him, arms shaking around the hold he has on Louis.

Louis thrusts his hips when Harry stops, spent against the outline of his side, and it only takes a couple more brushes before he’s coming, fingers tugging at Harry’s curls and pulling him back for an open mouthed kiss, letting the soft moan of Harry’s name fill him up.

“Christ,” he breathes, after his body slumps against the tops of the cushions. “You’re obscene.”

Harry giggles lightly into his collarbone, dragging his sticky fingers out from underneath Louis’s pants and along his shirt. “Were you expecting something different?”

“Not really,” Louis smiles, “no.”

Harry looks up at him then, sees his smile falter when their eyes meet. He brings his clean hand up to cup his jaw, pulling him forward into a soft kiss.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

“Just you,” Louis says back. “I know.” He pulls away, eyes so blue they could give you hypothermia. “I like it, with you. I like being with you.”

Something pulls in Harry’s chest, delicate and fine. “I like being with you too, Lou.” His cheeks dimple around his laugh. “ _Too, Lou_.”

“Oh my god,” Louis snorts, pushing Harry away from him so he can stand up straighter. “We’ve just wanked each other and you’re laughing at a _rhyme_.”

“Can’t blame me,” Harry replies, twisting his fingers into the older boy’s shirt.

“No I can’t really, can I,” Louis smiles. He grabs Harry’s sticky fingers in his, entwining them together simply.

Harry tugs at him, eyes bright. “Shower?”

Louis smiles back at him even brighter. “I’d love one.”

 

~


	8. Part eight

Harry didn’t expect to be here so soon; didn’t see this as the place he would end up only mere hours after watching his whole world blow to hell. He swallows painfully against the bitter climbing up his throat, cheeks burning from where he’s been rubbing at them. His hands shake visibly against the fabric of his jeans, too tight, legs shaking with them, and fuck, _fuck_.

He tries to breathe, knows that he needs to breathe, can’t do anything for Louis if he isn’t _breathing_ , but his pulse is quickening anyway and it’s so terrifying, the way he can’t seem to control anything anymore.

Harry wants to close his eyes. He’s so tired. But every time he shuts them he sees the empty street and the broken car and the broken sirens and the broken body and it’s too much, all at once. The paramedics had to strap him down after they came, because he wouldn’t let go, refused to let go. They told him he was screaming, trying to break out of his own body so that maybe Louis could have it.

Louis’ name had ripped up his throat, left scars in his mouth on the way out. He had tried to breathe, but no matter how hard he had tried to get his chest to just rise, the weight of his body had been almost too much to bear, because Louis had been there and then he just wasn’t, anymore.

_“No, no no no no, god – “_

Harry folds his fingers into fists, leaning forward so he could push them into his hair, tangled and greasy and matted with blood.

“Harry.” The voice is soft, tentative, and is quickly followed by a warming hand on his back. “It’s okay, he’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t fucking know that,” he gets out, bottom lip caught deep between his teeth. “Nobody fucking knows anything.”

“I get it, I know – “

“No you don’t,” he whimpers, eyes so wide it burns. “Louis just got fucking run over by a car, he’s in the bloody ICU because _nobody knows what’s going on_ and I’m sitting here in the god damn lobby waiting for our _management_.” He’s wheezing now, and Liam’s hand has started rubbing in slow circles against his shoulders. “I should be there with him.” He should have been there with him.

 _I don’t think I can love you anymore_.

Those words had been perched on the tip of his tongue, would have been the last thing he had said if the car hadn’t come out of nowhere. Harry had been so angry.

“I don’t want to be angry anymore,” he whispers into the part of his knees. “’S not fair.”

He feels two more pairs of arms wrap around him, heads buried against his neck, and he thanks god, thanks _fucking god_ for these boys.

“He’ll be okay, you’ll be okay, we’ll be okay.”

They repeat those words to him endlessly.

 

~

 

The office is full of pictures and unread books and windows too bright to see out of. He thinks maybe if he stared into the sun long enough he’d see Louis.

“Harry.”

He flicks his eyes over to Tesla, her posture significantly different from every other meeting they’ve had. She’s poised tight in her seat, hands clasped together, her blazer unbuttoned.

“Harry.” She exhales slowly, like she’s trying not to cry, and it makes him furious.

“What could you possibly have to say to me,” he starts. “What could possibly be more important than Louis right now.”

“For you, probably nothing. But for us – “

“Does it look like my biggest concern is whatever situation you think we’ve gotten ourselves into? _Leave it alone_ for Christ’s sake.” He digs his fingers into the armrests.

Tesla clears her throat. She can’t seem to look him in the eye. “As you know, this all transgressed outside your flat. The paps were there. They heard _everything_ , Harry, they _saw_ , everything – “

“That’s what this is about?” Harry fumes. “Covering us up?” He stands abruptly, making to leave. “This is bullshit, I’m done.”

“ _Harry_. If you go in there it will look worse, it will look – “

“What?” He yells. “ _Honest_? I hate to break it to you Tesla but whatever they’ve seen, whatever they see later, it’s _true_ , it’s fucking true. And I’m _done_.”

“That’s Louis’ choice too – “

“Well he’s broken and working to be put back together because of _you_.” He knows it isn’t fair, to blame it all on her like that. But he’s angry, so angry.

“I know you care, and the other boys’ care too. _I_ care, the whole management crew, despite what you think of us. But you cannot make a decision like this without Louis, who I highly _doubt_ would be okay with you throwing such a fit over a _fling_ – “

“A fling.” His throat is on fire. “If it was just a _fling_ then why have you been so _threatened_ by it?”

Tesla purses her lips, flattening her palms against the wood of her desk. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “Just please, sit back down so we can talk about this like civil adults – “

“I’m not being a child,” Harry breathes. “I’m being a committed partner.”

She doesn’t look at him, just nods jerkily.

 

~

 

When Harry sees him he’s got tubes down his throat and IV’s mapping his arms and there are machines talking for him, beeping restlessly in the too open hospital room. His head and torso are wrapped completely in snow-white gauze, left leg in a cast, and it’s a miracle really, that he got away with bruises and a hit to the head.

He walks over to the bed slowly, afraid that if he gets too close Louis will just get farther away. He feels like somehow this is his fault, that he pushed too hard, pulled from too far away, and it aches somewhere deeper than his bones.

He toes off his shoes before sinking onto the mattress, eyes swimming, and folds himself around the older boy, face tucked into the side of his neck, heartbeat pulsing against his nose. It’s calming almost, and if he ignores the steady beeping in the background he can imagine they’re at home, the silence of their flat enveloping them around each others breathing, arms wrapped around one another carelessly and not close enough. It had never been close enough.

“Wake up,” he whispers into Louis’s skin, pale and void of light. “Wake up for me.”

He wonders what sort of pictures are out there now, if those flashes had caught the light draining from his eyes when he saw it had all drained from Louis. Harry traces his fingers up and down the bandages tied to Louis’ waist, trying to breathe steadily for the both of them.

“You’ll be okay.” He closes his eyes. “We’ll be okay.”

When Harry wakes up a few hours later it’s to Jay petting his hair, lips pulled back in a quivering smile, eyes red and bruised with exhaustion. He reaches out a hand for her to hold, because as much as he wants to hug her right now he can’t pull away from Louis, can’t let the distance consume him.

He feels so far away, too far away.

“They said he’s going to be just fine,” she whispers shakily against his hand. “Our baby is going to wake up soon.”

 _Our baby_.

Harry hums against the skin of Louis’ neck, pressing a soft kiss there. “I didn’t expect anything else.”

She laughs, wet and sad. “Me neither. He’s so strong, knew he’d pull through.”

Harry nods, closes his eyes again.

“Harry,” she says softly after a moment.

He looks over at her carefully, because the tone in her voice is too much, too overwhelming. “What is it?”

“The doctor, he said some other things."

“ _What_ other things?”

She kisses his hand, smoothes his curls back away from his face gently. “When he got hit he suffered a severe concussion. The pressure, the swelling, it affected his medial temporal lobe – “ she points with her free hand, “which is where our hippocampus is kept. It absorbed most of the damage – “

“Jay,” Harry breathes. “I’m not a doctor, you know I can’t – “ He breaks himself off, licking his lips. “Please, just.”

She tips her head back, closing her eyes. “The hippocampus is where our memories are primarily kept, Harry. I’m saying it was severely damaged in the accident. I’m saying there is a very, very large chance he won’t remember.”

Harry closes his eyes tightly, focuses on the feel of Louis beside him, under him, all around him. “Won’t remember what?”

“You.” She inhales loudly. “The boy’s, the band, living in London.”

_You. He won’t remember you._

Harry swallows around a sob, hand gripping tight around Jay’s. Jay’s lips are moving but he can’t hear her, doesn’t want to hear her. He suddenly feels like an intruder, like he’s lying there with a stranger, someone who isn’t his, someone who doesn’t remember he’s Harry’s. He peels himself away from Louis’ damp skin, tears clouding his vision. He feels Jay pull him into her, feels the way she holds him, like she’s trying to protect him from this.

“A possibility,” he hears through the static. “It’s just a possibility.”

 _You. He won’t remember you_.

 

~

 

When Harry goes back to the flat it’s to lights left on from this morning, the stale smell of vomit, and a very, empty bed. The covers are pushed back, formed around a pool of mattress inevitably Louis’. It’s cold when he presses up against it, but the pillow still smells sickly sweet, stained with fruity shampoo and the everlasting scent of alcohol.

Harry curls himself around it, closing his eyes and pretending that maybe its really just Louis, all the soft parts of him against all the soft parts of Harry.

He can’t go back in there, can’t face empty eyes and a curious smirk and the inevitable, “who are you?”. And it’s so hard because Louis was _there_ , alive and real and okay, but the accident took away all the important parts, all the Harry parts, all the I love you’s and all the I miss you’s and all of the it will be okay’s and Harry’s not sure he can do this alone.

He rings Liam, nose pressed into the duvet.

“Harry,” Liam answers, breathless.

He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to fucking know.

“Where are you?”

“Home.” He sounds lifeless, he know he does, because he’s not home, not really. “Didn’t want to stay, couldn’t stay.”

Liam sighs on the other end, and he hears something like a door close. “Jay told us what happened.”

“Did she?”

“Harry.” And he sounds so _sad_.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Don’t do that Li.”

“He could remember, you know. We don’t really _know_ anything – “

Louis wasn’t going to wake up and ask for him. He was going to wake up and he was going to be scared and everything was going to be so _new_ and Harry didn’t want to be there to make it harder for him, didn’t want to be someone new he had to wrap his brain around.

“You should come back.”

Harry swallows loudly, inhales with everything he has. “Call me if he asks for me.”

“Harry please – “

He hangs up and throws his phone across the bed, burrowing deeper against the pillow and wishing, always wishing.

The phone call never comes.

 

~

 

He doesn’t go back to the hospital, stays underneath layers of blankets buried in memories of Louis and trying not to call any of the boys. Jay calls him a few times, but he just closes his eyes against them, listening to the vibrations as they burn a hole in the sheets. It isn’t until three days later when someone decides to check on him, fist pounding against the door.

Harry peeks at the small clock on the bedside table and sees that it’s almost six in the morning. He stifles a groan and rolls over as if he could shield himself from the confrontation.

“I know you’re in there!” It’s Zayn. “I know where you keep your spare and so help me I will use it if you don’t present yourself!”

Two minutes later the door is opening and Zayn is grabbing his ankles and pulling him roughly from the home he’s managed to build for himself in the emptiness of their bed.

“Jesus,” he breathes, grabbing Harry’s shirt and forcing his head up. Zayn looks like shit, face pale and hair disheveled, like he hasn’t slept in days. He’s wearing the same clothes from when they’d last been together, and his shirt looks rumpled.

“You smell awful,” Harry gets out.

“You’re a fucking dick,” Zayn says, grabbing Harry’s face in his fingers and looking at him with open, haunting eyes. “Louis is in a fucking hospital bed and you _aren’t there_.” He pushes Harry away, standing up and pulling him along. “Louis is fucking awake and you _aren’t there_.”

“He doesn’t want me there, does he?”

Zayn pauses, fingers resting tightly against his bicep. “You really think that matters right now?”

“That’s all that matters right now.”

“Get up.” Zayn grabs his shirt collar again, pulling until Harry is half on top of him, before making towards the bathroom. “You’re going to fucking shower and then you’re going to come with me to the hospital and _see him_.”

Harry tries to push away, tries to close his eyes, tries not to throw up. “He doesn’t want me there.”

“No,” Zayn sighs. “He does. He just doesn’t know it yet.” He pushes Harry down onto the toilet seat, ordering him to strip down before turning on the shower head and helping him inside.

Harry sits against the tile, eyes against the wall as Zayn pushes his fingers through the curls on top of his head, beyond manageable. They have to condition it twice before there are no knots, and his scalp stings by the time it’s over.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, as Zayn rinses it out.

“What do you want me to tell you?” he murmurs back, and it’s like a punch to the stomach.

“What’s he remember? Does he remember anything?”

Zayn thinks about this for a minute. “He remembers auditions, but that’s about it. Says he can’t remember getting through or anything.”

Harry can’t breathe.

“He thinks he’s back in Doncaster, like the whole x-factor was sort of just a black out for him. He doesn’t recognize any of us, Harry.”

“Fuck.” His voice cracks, words swollen. “Fuck, Zayn.”

“Yeah,” is all he says.

Then he drags him up and out of the shower, puts a towel around his shoulders, and waits for him to get dressed. He stands in front of his closet for a long time, like he’s honestly thinking about what to wear. Is it wrong, is it fucked, for him to think about wearing something that will impress Louis, make him remember curly hair and awkward smiles and all the “okay” ‘s.

He pulls on a Pink Floyd t-shirt and skintight jeans because there’s no way he’ll remember anyway.

When they get to the hospital he lets Zayn hold his hand, tight and sweaty, because he’s not sure he could walk down the hall alone. Everything is white and plastic and it smells like lost memories and it hurts in his lungs, every time he struggles for a breath.

As they get closer to the door Harry can hear the faint outlines of a laugh, Louis’ laugh. It’s powerful and full of colors Harry’s never seen before. He’s afraid, _terrified_ , because this won’t be the same Louis; his Louis. It will be the Louis he never got to know before x-factor, the Louis with all these secret parts he’s not supposed to know about.

Zayn stops outside the room and pushes back the still damp curls from his face. “You okay?”

“No.”

Zayn pulls him in anyway, and the first thing Harry sees is Jay with laugh lines and Niall sitting on the edge of the bed and Louis, bright and open and awake. He looks over curiously, giving a warm, knowing smile to Zayn, like they’d met before, and then shifts his eyes over to Harry.

His smile drops for the smallest of moments, like he sees the pain etched into Harry’s face, but then something else crosses his features and he looks bewildered, like he’s stumbled across a friend from years and years ago.

“Harry?”

 


	9. Part nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these are coming faster than I thought. I just wrote and edited this in the last couple of hours so sorry if you find any mistakes.
> 
> thank you guys for the reads and kudos!

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever lived without Louis. He can’t remember a time in his life when he wasn’t there, wasn’t somehow present. Maybe he had been only sixteen when they met, but he had been there before then somehow, ghosting in his limbs. It was being incomplete. It was knowing he was there, but not being able to touch him, see him, not being able to know it was Harry being a part of him too.

And then he had walked into the toilets of all places, and fuck it if Harry hadn’t somehow drowned from the sight of him, because suddenly it all felt so easy.

 _God it’s him god it’s this god it’s here_.

And it felt right just looking at him, even if Harry couldn’t really see his face, even if he hadn’t even heard his voice. Louis could have hated the shit out of him and he thinks maybe it would have just hurt less, because looking at him _hurt_. It ignited his skin and burned his lungs and sucked just about all the air right out of him.

Louis had been entranced by him, fingers light against his scalp as he admired Harry’s curls, and he remembers the older boy asking for a picture, for an autograph, because he had seen him perform.

“You’re going to make it,” Louis had smiled, eyes warm and knowing even though he didn’t know, not at all. “You’re going to be famous.”

Harry had smiled back, had memorized the look in Louis’s eyes, the way they mirrored clarity and familiarity, had reeled him in and tied him down.

Harry feels anchored now, staring at blue eyes, white-washed and blurry.

“Harry, right?”

Jay is looking at him, fingers rubbing absentmindedly along her arm. Harry focuses on the rhythm of it in order to keep himself grounded, because he’s seen that look before.

“Yeah.” He’s not surprised when the word comes out sounding broken.

Louis’s smile doesn’t falter one bit. “You must be a legend.”

“I – what?” Zayn’s fingers grip deep into his shoulder, and he’s not sure if it’s out of surprise or meant to be some sort of warning.

“I mean, I’ve been awake a bit now. I was told about the accident, that my memories are sort of – “ he waves his hand in a small circle, “jumbled and not really coherent just yet. Maybe never.” He shrugs with a frown. “But I know it’s been a few years. And I remember you. I definitely remember you.”

“What.”

“Your audition?” Louis looks a little shy now and Harry hates it, hates how it’s like he’s trying to impress him. Louis’ smiling like he wants Harry to like him and that’s not fair, not when Harry know how Louis takes his tea and what he smells like in the mornings and how he loves Harry’s fingers like they’re the next coming of Christ.

“Right. I, ehm.” Harry looks at Zayn quickly, and the other boy gives a slight shake of the head.

_We haven’t told him yet._

“Something like that,” he finishes softly, averting his gaze.

“Oh.” Louis clears his throat.

“Sorry Louis, just, hold on a minute yeah?” Zayn motions for Harry and the other boys’ to follow him back outside.

Harry wants to scream. He collapses against the wall before sliding down to the floor, running shaking fingers through his fringe. “What,” he breathes, “the fuck.”

“He knows who you are.” Zayn is staring at the wall with his eyebrows curved against the tops of his eyes.

“Did he recognize any of you?” Harry can’t look at them.

“No I mean, we told him we all met on x-factor – “

Harry’s not exactly sure how his life got so turned around. His worst fear had been Louis, had been the way Harry loved him like a monsoon, intense and never-ending. For a while it felt like maybe Louis would never feel the same way, and then after he did it was Harry believing Louis would leave him, would push too hard against the pressure and collapse.

Louis had been scared and Harry had scared him even more.

Harry’s worst fear that night had been sleeping alone. He couldn’t have left Louis, could never leave him, because Louis was _it_ for him. There was nobody else, there was no fairytale ending, there was no life for him away from their flat, there was just Louis and whatever ending happened with him.

Harry knew that had been his mistake, knowing that even if Louis never came out of the dark Harry would sit in it with him anyway.

“What are we supposed to tell him?” he murmurs into his hands, blinking rapidly against the scuffed white floor.

“The doctor said that if we tell him the truth, you know, update him on where he is and what he’s been doing then it’s possible to jump start memory recovery, if it happens at all.” Zayn taps his fingers against the pocket of his jeans.

“Zayn,” Harry sighs, looking up finally, because no, he _knows_ what they need to tell him. He’s just not sure what _he_ needs to tell him.

“Fuck,” he snaps, “fuck Harry, I don’t know okay? I don’t know.” He bends down though and pulls Harry’s head into his jean jacket, wisps of smoke still lingering there. “I’m sorry.”

“D’you think it’s a bad idea? How am I supposed to say something like that?” Harry grips tighter onto Zayn, like maybe he has the strength to pull him away from his own thoughts. “’Oh hey Louis, we all are in a boy band together that travels the world on tour and by the way, you and Harry have been fucking since x-factor.’”

Liam sighs and Harry positively hates it. “Let’s just be realistic here for a second okay? No one should tell him _anything_ until we think this through.”

“What’s to think through?” Zayn exhales roughly. “There’s no light way to put any of this, Liam. His last four years are _gone_ , kaput, smashed to smithereens. Someone’s got to remind him what he’s been up to.”

Harry winces at his words, curling against the wall, and closes his eyes. He wonders vaguely if Louis will ever remember, if his chances of remembering are slim enough that Harry will always remain as that boy Louis saw sing Isn’t She Lovely on a big screen that shadowed over thousands waiting to go on after him. He was that boy for a while, all pink cheeked and charming innocence. And it wasn’t like Louis didn’t know that boy, didn’t grow with him, didn’t fall in love with him.

But it had been four years of growing together, of Harry growing into this man, of Louis growing into him, and it wasn’t fair to have to act like that didn’t happen, like they didn’t experience things with each other Harry’s never had the bravery or the love or the trust to experience with anyone else.

Louis fell in love with pink cheeks and Isn’t She Lovely, but he’s loved Harry, and Harry’s not sure Louis could fall in love with the person he’s become.

“I want to go home,” he whispers.

“Well tough shit.” Niall leans down and looks at him, open and stern and a lot of things Harry wishes he wasn’t right now. “I’d really like to go home too. But that’s Louis in there, and last time I checked you're both home to each other.” He stands back up, tugging Harry with him. “So you’re going to get your butt back in there and act like the home you are because all I know is that if that were you in there Louis wouldn’t leave, not for the life of him.”

“He’d probably come up with some extravagant story about how you two met just to make you laugh. You wouldn’t know it then but you’d like it when he makes you laugh.”

“Just like Louis likes it when you laugh at every bloody thing he says, he just doesn’t know it yet. So go in there and make him remember, alright?” Niall raises his eyebrows expectantly.

Harry swallows down fears and pain and _home_ before turning to go back inside the room, arms stiff and legs stiff and whole body stiff. Louis is frowning at his broken leg, fingers twisted in a knot around his blankets, and Harry desperately wants to crawl in there with him, help him forget the pain.

“So Lou,” Zayn starts, sitting down on the edge of the bed, “I think we should probably fill you in on some stuff, yeah?”

Harry doesn’t want to be jealous of Zayn but he is because it’s like their friendship is still there, so close, too close, and Harry’s just sitting in the broken down plastic chair across the room, watching.

Louis’s mouth turns down but he nods anyway. “Yeah just, go slow okay? It’s kind of weird, being a part of someone else’s memories when they’re not a part of yours.”

Yeah.

“Of course,” Liam intervenes. “We don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or anything.”

Zayn clears his throat. “So, x-factor. You got through, made it to boot camp and everything. None of us got put through after that, but then they called us back.” He looks up then, stares at them all individually. “The five of us were called back, together. And we got put into a group.”

He goes on, trying as hard as he can to lay out the process of events that have been happening. He leaves out Elounor and Harry explicitly, besides the fact that Louis and him had become best friends and moved in together. Louis looks at him closely after that, like he’s trying to figure him out, trying to recreate a friendship in his head.

“So,” Louis says slowly after Zayn has finished, “you’re saying that for the past four years I’ve been in an internationally famous boy band with you lot, traveling the world, running from screaming girls, the likes?”

“Pretty much,” Niall shrugs.

“Shit,” he smiles. “I’m living the dream and I can’t even remember it.” He picks at the linen of his blanket. “Is our music any good?”

“Top of the charts,” Niall answers, waving his fist in the air. “We’re pretty badass.”

“And what about the fans?” Louis waggles his eyebrows, and it reminds Harry of the way he used to act before he came out, before he even _knew_ –

He can’t breathe, hadn’t even thought of the fact that Louis can’t remember, has completely missed out on his sexuality crisis, has still completely bypassed that entire segment of his life.

“They’re amazing,” Zayn coughs, and he’s tapping on his jean pocket again. “It never gets old.”

“Bet not.” Louis seems to fumble with his next question. “And what about, like, my love life?” He turns red and then Harry turns red and he has to put his face in his hands to avoid throwing up.

“Oh.” Liam coughs awkwardly and Zayn straightens up, like he’s about to out Louis to himself.

“You’ve got a girlfriend.”

Harry jerks his head up towards the door, eyes wide as he takes in Tesla, stoic and awkward against the white back-dropped walls of the hospital room.

“A girlfriend?”

Tesla nods. She doesn’t look at Harry. “Actually, technically speaking she’s your fiancé. You proposed to her the night before your accident. She had already left back for uni, but she’s on her way now.” She smiles tightly.

Zayn, Liam, and Niall are all looking at Harry, daring him.

“Wow,” Louis breathes, eyes wide. “A fiancé?” He turns to look at Jay, her mouth slack. “I’m getting married?”

Her eyes flash to Harry quickly before her head moves in a very vague manner.

“Shit.” Louis rubs at his eyes. “Shit.”

“Her name is Eleanor, and she’s been informed – “

“Hold on,” he cuts in, “who even are you?”

“Our management,” Harry mutters without looking up. He can feel Louis’s stare anyway.

“Like I was saying,” Tesla cuts in, “she has already been informed of your condition, so no need to panic. After you’re well enough to go back home, we’ll all sit down together and have a chat about how to go about all of this, yes? I know it’s going to be hard for you, getting back into the swing of things.”

“What are you on about?” Harry frowns, glancing up at her. “There is no ‘swing of things’. He literally can’t remember.”

“Muscle memory,” she gets out, her smile tight lipped and too fake for all of this.

He snorts. “Did it work out for you then?” He looks up at her accusingly. “Looks like you didn’t even need me to extinguish the fire, just Louis.”

“Harry,” Jay interjects softly, tone stern.

“What?” Louis is scratching the back of his neck and Harry wants to grab his hands. “Sorry, look, this is all really still sort of confusing to me? So maybe if we didn’t speak in vague, general phrases….”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles. “Sorry.”

Tesla straightens her blazer. “Like I said, we’ll catch up in a few days okay?”

Louis nods, glancing at Harry, before Tesla excuses herself with a, “I’m glad you’re all right, Louis.”

“Is she always that uptight?” Louis gets out.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “It’s the blazer; cuts too tight around the middle.”

And then Louis laughs, eccentric and slow, and Harry can’t help but smile with it, dimples creased into his cheeks.

“What a startlingly honest observation young Harry,” he points out.

And then well. Harry wants to throw up. Again.

“So I think maybe it’d be best to give Louis a little time to rest, yeah boys?” Jay smiles at Louis softly before standing, ushering them all to their feet. “Come on, get up. Tea sound good?”

They all grumble in agreement, shuffling to their feet and waving goodbye to a half-lidded Louis, already settling back into his pillows.

Harry’s the last to follow, and he’s about to shut the door when he hears Louis say something.

“I’m sorry.”

He turns back, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

Louis looks at him for a moment before shrugging. “I’m sorry if we were close and I’ve forgotten about it. I’m sorry I’ve forgotten.”

Harry wants to hit him upside the head, because no, no, Harry is a _shit_ human being, pitying himself over someone who can’t remember their history. It’s not Louis’ fault. He shuts his eyes briefly before shaking his head.

“There’s no need for that.” When he opens his eyes again Louis has that same look in his eyes, the one Harry saw too often in the halls of the x-factor house.

“Okay,” he breathes in response.

 _Okay_.

 


	10. Part ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my updates may or may not get slower just because I am working on a oneshot, and apparently I can't multi-task very well. 
> 
> you can find me and my works on tumblr as well, as haz-nana. (:
> 
> thank you for the reads!

The next time Harry sees Louis he’s struggling through the door of their flat, drowned in bags and breathing far too heavily. Zayn and Niall are right behind him, arms out and ready, like everything is about to drop, and Harry thinks maybe everything already has.

Louis dumps everything by the dinette, eyes curious as they wander around the furniture, shadows of moments etched into them, ones he can’t see. He’s trying, it’s obvious, the way his lips turn down slightly and the creases of his forehead become more prominent. Harry wants him to stop, wants to tell him it’s okay, he can’t remember, it isn’t his fault.

But every fiber of his being is screaming, reaching out, begging, just _remember me_. He feels it burn, like a fire, or something brighter, and it blends so easily with the dull ache in his fingertips. It’s the ache he feels every time he sees Louis, every time he wakes up next to him, breath mingling, bodies never close enough. It’s the ache that says _I love you so damn much_ , the ache that says, _I never want to stop_. He wants to touch Louis, wants to drink the sun and memorize the way his eyelashes fall across his cheeks when the sky gets dark.

Harry sticks his hands in his pockets instead and watches from the hallway. His eyes flit to Jay as she comes in after the boys, rubbing her hands together against the cold. She smiles at Louis, gentle and sad, like she wishes he could remember this flat, those moments, just as much. She looks at Harry next, smile fading, and then works on taking off her coat.

“It’s too much,” she had told him softly, after Tesla’s visit. “You have to understand. I’m on your side, Harry. But a moment like that, to choose and twist his thoughts against sexuality and relationships, would have been unbearably hard for him. He doesn’t know what to believe right now, and telling him truths against lies isn’t going to help.” She had grabbed his hand, had pressed it to her forehead. “I love you, both of you, with all my heart. And he deserves to know, and you deserve every right to tell him. Just be patient.” Her smile was all tears. “Be patient for my boy.”

Harry pushes off from his perch on the connecting wall, clearing his throat and pushing the curls back away from his eyes. “You know,” he begins slowly, motioning at the bags, “all of your stuff is here.”

Louis’s eyes find him and it’s electric, like meeting for the first time. “Yeah, I know. I just thought, maybe I’d bring some old stuff from back home?” He smiles nervously, like he’s required to explain himself to Harry of all people.

“Sure,” is all he says.

Zayn wanders over to him, hands on his hips, and gives a hesitant smile. “Kind of weird, isn’t it?”

Harry scuffs his brown boots against the hardwood, shrugging. “Some part of it feels like he’s just coming back from a week away with Elounor.”

“Just, don’t kid yourself, yeah? He’s fragile, like really fragile. Got real quiet on us when we showed him pap pictures of him and El from a while back.”

“You don’t have to lecture me, Zayn,” Harry murmurs, throwing him a pleading glance. “What do you think I’m going to do?”

Zayn sighs, all deep and frustrated. “I just know how you get.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate the support here.”

“Harry.” Zayn quirks his mouth down, like he doesn’t want to appear half-hearted. “You _love him_. And right now he can’t remember he loves you back, so.” He shrugs and looks back, watching as Louis chats with Jay, his eyes always roaming. “Look, I’m here okay?”

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles.

“Just, if you ever get frustrated.”

“Yeah.”

Zayn leaves him after that, empty and strung out. Harry’s exhausted, and there’s really nothing more he’d like to do than get out of his clothes and into a bath, back braced against Louis’s chest, the older boys fingers wringing warm water into his curls. They’d climb out together and laugh at pruned skin before falling into bed with joggers on only to take them back off, lips leaving whispers inside the creases of each others skin, tucked away like secrets.

Harry blinks. “So, you want me to show you your room?”

He’d spent all afternoon getting the guest room ready, emptying their master bedroom of every thing Louis and moving them into all the unlived parts. Harry didn’t really realize how much space Louis took up, in his room, in his life. It was dull there now, no memories left except for the stray scent of shampoo against the bathroom tiles and the dirty clothes Harry hadn’t gotten around to washing just yet. He never wants to clean the sheets, never wants to clean the rumpled jumper bunched against the duvet, never wants to erase those parts because if he does they’ll be gone forever, and he’s not sure if they’ll ever be back again.

He’s not sure Louis will ever be back again, and he hates it.

He’d had to stop halfway through cleaning out the medicine cabinet; hands pressed so deep into the counter it had left marks. Everything was Louis’, every single bloody thing. They shared towels, shared toothpaste, shared shaving cream – Harry you don’t even _need_ to shave – and every detail of their relationship was reflected in that cabinet.

He’d had to walk to Tesco’s and buy new ones for himself. It’d made him feel cheap, made him feel like a _liar_. All this time he had been walking around, the ideal image of a womanizer, had encouraged it as much as he could, as much as management needed him to, and he’d never felt as guilty as he did now. He hadn’t been lying about himself, about where his true feelings really stood.

He’d still had Louis to go home to.

Louis looks up at Harry and gives a firm nod. “Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks mate.”

He grabs a couple bags and doesn’t argue when Harry comes up to help, before following him tentatively towards the guest bedroom. Harry had opened the blinds, let the sunlight stream through, and un-tucked the sheets. He’d tried to scatter the clothes and the shoes and the bits and bobs he’d kept scattered around their shared bedroom but it had looked too planned, too fake. In the end he had just stuffed it all into the closet.

“I live in here?” Louis asks slowly, eyes furrowed as he drops his bags by the door.

“Yeah,” Harry replies, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I mean, you didn’t spend a lot of time in here.”

“Looks unlived in.” He frowns slightly.

Harry’s mind isn’t processing correctly, his mouth too fast. “You didn’t sleep in here much.”

“No?”

Harry’s voice sounds hoarse when he replies. “No.”

Louis nods, like the answer is perfectly acceptable, and licks his lips. They stand like that for a moment, and Harry sort of wants to cry, the way Louis and him have moved so fast back to being strangers, and how it’s so different from the last time.

“So do you want any help?” Harry blurts out just as Louis is saying, “So I think I’m gonna just….” and Harry finds heat blooming in his cheeks, across his ears, burning a hole deep in his throat.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Louis asks.

“Nothing I – “ Harry’s voice cracks and shit, _shit_ , this is so fucked up. “I’ll just leave you to it then.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Just let me know if you need anything. I’ll be, you know.” He gestures at the door.

Louis purses his lips with raised eyebrows and nods. Harry wants to just crawl into his arms. “Right.”

“Okay.” Harry offers one more glance before turning on his heel and stumbling out of the room, shutting the door behind him in a frantic rush because fuck, _fuck_.

He hates this, hates it so much he feels like he’s just struggling to breathe. He feels like he’s falling apart without Louis, without his touches and gentle words and open, inviting eyes. Everything about him is closed off, scared, terrified, and that’s understandable, it’s all so _new_ to him. But now it’s all so new to Harry too, all new territory, all new feelings and secrets and he hates it, hates that he was forced into this because Louis had lost his memory and Tesla took advantage of him.

“Are you barking mad?” Harry had screamed at her, fists trembling against his knees, legs shaking. “How _fucking dare you_.”

“And what are you going to do about it? Out him?” She’s stacking papers on her desk like he’s not important, like this isn’t important. It snaps something in him, makes him lurch out of his chair and push the piles onto the floor, papers strewn and eyes wild.

“You had no right, no bloody right. Louis is _mine_ , we are together – “

“And who do you think he’s going to believe, Harry?” Tesla rises out of her seat, face inches from his. “Hm? This young, eighteen year old boy from Doncaster that is sitting in that hospital room is _straight_ , as far as he’s concerned. You going to blow that up for him? You going to fuck him up by telling him he’s not only gay, but secretlygay with his bandmate?”

Harry wants to push her away, wants to tell her _yes, yes of course I would_ , because he loves Louis, loves him with all his fucking heart and soul and being. That boy makes stars for him, breathes the sun into his lungs, touches him like he’s made of diamonds, and Harry _deserves_ that, deserves Louis. And Louis deserves him back, just as much, because despite Louis’ sarcasm and trouble making and “Harry you do talk some shit in interviews” he’s always loved Harry, all his charming dimples and idiot jokes. And they deserve each other, they bloody well deserve each other.

“That’s what I thought,” Tesla spits, pushing at his shoulders. “Now get out of my office before I call security.”

Harry’s never really been sure of what fuels the drive Tesla has to keep them a secret, and more so to keep them apart. He’s never tried to take it personally, because it’s all business, always business. He doesn’t think it’s so much business anymore.

On the other side of the door Harry can breathe easier, if even just a little bit. He closes his eyes briefly, hand still wrapped around the gold of the door knob, and conjures up the image of Louis, fucked out and tired, like molten rock against the powder of the duvet, lips left parted and skin marked.

Harry wonders if Louis noticed the marks, noticed the bruises and the love bites that scattered his body, faded and permanent at the same time. He wonders if he thinks Eleanor gave them to him.

 _Mine_ , he thinks. At least some part of him is still there, etched into Louis’ skin.

“Harry,” Jay murmurs from behind him, and he turns suddenly, startled. She’s holding a cup of tea out for him, smile waning. “How is he?”

“Frustrated,” Harry sighs, grabbing the cup and sipping lightly. It burns his tongue, though he barely feels it. “I can tell.”

“He was so scared to come here,” she tells him, and Harry doesn’t think he really wants to hear this. “I wanted to tell him so bad.”

Harry shakes his head. “He doesn’t know, can’t even remember.” He looks up from his tea. “Jay, I went through so much shit the first time through. I was so patient because how couldn’t I have been? I would have waited forever for him. But he took his time, a long time, before it was even implied that whatever we had going was more than just being friendly.”

“I know,” Jay whispers. “I remember.” Louis had called her, confused and broken. He’d gone home for a night when they were in the judge’s house because he couldn’t take it, needed a sense of home and safety. Harry had turned into that safety, after Louis had realized that losing Harry would have been like losing pieces of him that didn’t add up by himself.

“I just don’t know what to do the second time around,” Harry whispers. “Don’t know what I’d do if it didn’t happen again, if it happened differently, if it happened at _all_.” He closes his eyes because it’s getting too much to look at her. “I didn’t have these memories back then, Jay. I didn’t have his touches and his words and his lips burned into me like this. I don’t know how to go through pretending like they aren’t there, like he didn’t leave pieces of him with me, like I didn’t leave pieces of me with him.”

Jay pulls him into her arms, soft and familiar. “Baby I know,” she breathes against his temple. “I know.”

 

~

 

After everyone has left Harry finds himself on the couch with the television turned onto some terrible cartoon rerun, but he’s enjoying it anyway. He’s holding his tea against his chest, warming the coiled ball settled there, and tries to focus on the scent of rooibos. It’s starting to get dark out, beams of light now turned to silver against his legs.

About an hour in he hears the small click of a door opening, and bare feet against the floorboards. They stop momentarily when they get to the living room, and then start up again towards the kitchen.

“Kettle’s still hot,” Harry calls out, refusing to take his eyes from the pictures on screen.

He hears a cupboard open, then another one, and then another one. Harry squeezes his eyes tight, tries to breathe, because Louis can’t even remember where he keeps the mugs. He _picked_ the cupboard where the mugs would go, left of the fridge so that he wouldn’t have to move to get his bloody milk.

“By the fridge,” Harry chokes out. Seconds later there’s the sound of a mug tapping against the counter, and a mumbled, “thanks”. It’s distant, spreads out into the space between them. Harry takes a long drink from his tea, trying to quiet the words in his throat, and raises an eyebrow when he sees Louis walk towards the couch.

He sits himself by Harry, feet propped up underneath him on the cushions and elbow resting against the armrest. He looks so comfortable that Harry almost forgets he’s forgotten.

“Sorry,” Louis says after a few minutes of Harry staring, “is this alright?”

“It’s your flat too,” he says softly, before turning his gaze back to the television.

There’s a long beat of silence, stretched out between laughs and ditzy music pouring through the speakers, before Louis asks, “do you not like me here?”

Harry nearly chokes on his tea. “What?”

“You just seem really uncomfortable around me.”

Harry licks the tea from his lips. “I’m just trying to give you space? Make you feel more comfortable.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows furrow. “You don’t have to do that. I’m not a piece of glass, Harry. I know there are things I haven’t been told, things I need to remember.”

“I know.” He knows. “I’m just letting you take everything at your own pace.”

Louis seems to consider that for a moment, taking a long sip from his tea. “Okay.” He leaves it at that for a while, body tense against the corner of the couch, before he slowly untangles himself and pushes his feet against the side of Harry’s thigh, arm slung around the back of the couch. His gaze is hot against the side of Harry’s face. “I like your curls.”

Harry lets himself smile.

 


	11. Part eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys are wonderful and you make this story wonderful. I apologize for any inconvenience changing my username may or may not have caused you!

The first time Harry sees Louis cry, he’s brushing his teeth, hand trembling against the plastic of his toothbrush. He stops every few seconds, running the fingers of his free hand along the tendons of his wrist, massaging them, pressing into them, like it will make them work correctly. It takes him five minutes to finish, and Harry shouldn’t be watching from the couch, he really shouldn’t be, but it takes him _five minutes_ and at the end of it there’s toothpaste smeared all along his chin.

Louis pushes the brush underneath running water, and his wrist gives a nervous jolt, the plastic clattering into the sink, and then it’s like a rainstorm, desperate and all at once.

“Fuck!” He jams his hand against his chest, fingers holding white against it, and collapses against the wall. Harry can’t hear him; he’d never been a violent crier. But his shoulders are shaking, chin tucked safe into his arms, and it’s too painfully obvious.

Harry looks away, pulse quickening, because he should _do_ something. He should shield him against this, arms wrapped long and beautiful around Louis’s shoulders, should kiss his wrist, should tell him it’s not his fault that parts of him can’t work properly, that Harry will make up those parts for him.

And he hates it, hates this part of him that’s telling him it’s not okay, not acceptable for him to get up and be a good person, to be the sort of person he is. If this were during x-factor Harry would have gone in an instant, would have laughed away any sort of protest. But they’re older now; they have _boundaries_ for god’s sake. 

Louis doesn’t come out of the bathroom. The light is haunting against the backdrop of the television, and he’s mostly watching the shadows there, worry gripping his bones. Louis had never been like this; he’d never hid anything from Harry. Their emotions were open when they wanted them to be because they refused to keep them silent from both the world and each other.

Harry moves away from the couch and to the kitchen, putting the kettle on and staring hard at the mugs he’s pulled from the cabinet while he waits for the water to boil. He’s got Louis’ favorite mug out, the one from their trip to Paris. He used to get so upset when it wasn’t clean – The dishes don’t just clean themselves Lou – and he’d sulk through his tea with some mug from Ikea they bought too far back, kicking Harry’s shins the entire time under the table.

He closes his eyes because he’s afraid he’ll see Louis there if he stares too long. But it doesn’t matter, not really, not when he sees Louis everywhere.

The kettle screams and he takes it off the stovetop, sighing against the steam. It pushes against his face, makes him see ghosts, so he opens the small kitchen window, hand braced against the countertop. He lets them brew for a few minutes before adding in sugars and milk and heading towards the bathroom, a mug in each hand.

When he turns the corner Louis is sitting against the counter, head propped up on the wood and eyes closed. He’s turning his wrist in circles, like it’ll help, and Harry wishes it would.

“Lou,” he murmurs softly, and the boy’s eyes pop open, turning to look at Harry.

“Oh, hey.” He clears his throat and makes to stand up. “Sorry, did you need to use the bathroom?”

Harry shakes his head, motioning for him to keep seated. He holds up the tea with a small twitch of his lips. “Thought you could use a cuppa.”

Louis sighs, taking the cup from Harry’s hand. “Thank you.”

Harry licks his lips, eyebrows furrowed. “Do you mind, if I - ?” He motions towards the empty space across from where Louis is sitting.

Louis stares at him curiously. “Not at all.”

Harry braces his hand against the wall as he slides down, careful not to slosh his tea, and crosses his legs. Louis is looking at him, all hurricane eyes and closeted lips, and it feels like home, if only briefly. He takes a sip of his tea, careful, and the corner of his mouth twitches up.

“You know how to make my tea.”

It’s not a question, and Harry’s not surprised by it. He nods, looking down at his own cup. “I know how to make your tea.”

“Thank you.” There’s a smile in his voice.

Harry traces the rim of his mug with his fingertip, painting the ceramic with the sugar not yet mixed in. He always drinks his tea with too much sugar. He hears Louis hum appreciatively after a moment, a small laugh on the exhale of a breath.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.”

Harry can’t look at him.

Louis’ next question is small. “Have I been?”

“D’you want me to say no?”

“Look, I’m not – “

“ – Made of glass,” Harry finishes, “I know.” He brings the mug to his lips, says his next words around it. “We’ve been together.”

Louis doesn’t say anything for a while, and Harry knows that he’s going to bring up Eleanor. He’d had Hannah for a while, back in the x-factor days, to hide behind as well, when things with Harry grew past his control. Harry’s stomach churns, and he feels sick at the idea of having to pass off as being the kind of mate who talks with his other friends about their girl problems.

“Did we have fun?” He says instead, and Harry has to close his eyes, has to fucking, _fuck_ , close his eyes because this is different, and this is okay.

“Yeah,” he gets out, clearing his throat and taking a sip of tea. “Loads.”

Louis snorts. “Your answers are rather lacking enthusiasm Harry.”

“Sorry,” he laughs quietly. “It’s just a bit, overwhelming.”

Louis’s foot nudges against Harry’s leg unconsciously, resting in the dip of his ankle.  “I guess it is for you too huh? And the other boy’s.” He pulls at his chin. “And my mum, and Eleanor.”

“Stop it,” Harry murmurs, resting his head back against the wall and resting his cup against his knee. “You don’t have to apologize for anything, and you most definitely don’t have to feel bad about anything that’s happened or that’s going to happen.”

“I know,” Louis whispers, eyes soft against Harry’s cheeks, and then he raises his tea to his lips with a shaky hand.

“That new?” Harry has to ask.

Louis’s eyes grow dark, his face slack. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry sees him, sees the fear and the pain and the _don’t you dare pity me_ sitting beneath his words. So he just nods. “Sure.”

They sit like that in silence for a little bit, sipping their tea and pretending they aren’t glancing at each other. Louis’s toes move every now and again, brushing against Harry’s socked foot, and it numbs his leg, bright against the dim lights of the bathroom. It feels a bit like normal, aside from sitting with tea on the bathroom floor and the slight tremble working its way into Louis’s hands, but it’s nice nonetheless. Harry finds himself wanting to touch Louis more than he can, more than he’s allowed, and it’s problematic because his whole body is surging with it.

Louis can touch him as much as he wants, because this is _his_ pace, not Harry’s. He’s allowed to touch his bare feet against the skin of Harry’s leg, he’s allowed to let his fingers slip along the veins of Harry’s hand when he grabs the cup of tea, he’s _allowed_ , and Harry isn’t.

Harry’s not going to run off, that’s a given, and he’s pretty sure Louis knows it too.

“We were best friends, weren’t we.”

Harry rolls his head back along the wall until he’s looking at Louis again, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped. “Yes.”

Louis exhales roughly, rolling his eyes before setting them hard on Harry’s face. “Would you stop giving me vague one word answers?”

Harry doesn’t let the words wound him. “What would you like to know?”

He sets his mug down against the tiles, crossing his arms over his chest. “I dunno. Why you and me? Why not one of the other boys?”

He makes a small sound in the back of his throat. “It’s not like you aren’t best mates with any of the other boys.”

“Yeah but,” Louis sighs, gesturing at Harry’s torso wildly, “I moved in with you, so.”

Harry smiles slightly. “It’s because I’m an amazing cook.”

Louis laughs, crinkles lighting up the corners of his eyes, and Harry just wants to reach out and touch them. “I’d like to remember that.”

Something in Harry breaks at that, and he has to look away, up at the ceiling, somewhere his memories can’t reach. “I can make you something, if you’d like.”

Louis’s foot definitely presses against Harry’s now, slow and steady. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

They move themselves from the bathroom to the kitchen, tea gone and backs aching. Harry stretches as he walks up the steps to the fridge, spine popping, and sighs against the cool of the linoleum beneath his feet. Louis comes up beside him, his hip resting against the counter, and sets the empty Paris mug along the granite.

“I could make you cheesy toast,” Harry suggests, opening the fridge and letting the cool air blow along the tops of his feet.

Louis hums at that, but there’s a twist to his lips and his eyes and his crinkles and Harry knows that look, feels a pit of hopelessness at the sight of it.

Harry would do anything for Louis. He's known this since the first few moments, since becoming aware of the fact that Louis was a part of him whether he wanted to be or not, all tanned skin and knobby fingers and fringe that caught in the wakes of his eyes. He’d had this aura to him, a warmth that seeped into Harry’s skin, attached itself deeper than his bones.

He’d had this smile, this smile that said _you make me happy_ , that said _it’s easy to tease you_ , that said _I won’t let anybody hurt you_. Louis always poked at him, prodded with curious fingers and an even more curious heart. But he’d always stand in front of him when someone in the house got too mean, always cuddled him in the dark when hate made him feel too young for this, always pulled him in when management told him to push Harry away.

So Harry knows that smile, knows he’s about to be teased, knows that it really means _I won’t let anybody hurt you_.

“Ah, but cheesy toast is so _easy_ ,” Louis smirks, comfortable. Harry smiles because he wants him to know it’s okay, he’s not going anywhere. “Youhave to show me your real skills.”

“Is that so?” Harry says. “What is it you want my skills to make, then?”

“I think,” Louis begins, raising an eyebrow, “that if someone were to make a chocolate cake, I could possibly be persuaded into eating it.”

“Chocolate, huh?” Harry pretends to consider this, even though they both know he’ll do it anyway. “I suppose I can do that.”

He gets everything out that he needs to mix before setting their oven to the right degree. He goes through the process of measuring out the flour, and even though he’s standing right next to him he can hear Louis’s voice – always so _precise_ , curly – and it warms him against the breeze coming in through the open window. Louis is peering over his shoulder, eyebrows set, and Harry almost laughs at his concentration.

“You want to help?” He asks, turning his face to look at him and _oh_ , they’re close. Louis’s breath is washing over his lips, and he can pick out the mist of freckles littering the bridge of his nose, red and silver against the moonlight. He thinks, _now is when I’d kiss you_ , and takes a step to the side, ears hot, and hands him the large plastic spatula he’s been using to stir the batter.

Louis takes it hesitantly, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he tries to make a similar rhythm. “Like this?”

Harry feels an overwhelming sense of fond for Louis in that moment, eyes soft and questioning and words like sand between his toes, _like this_?

“Yeah,” he smiles, “exactly like that.”

Harry finishes the rest of the process while Louis slowly stirs against the mess, cracked eggs and crystalized sugar and whipped milk, because it tastes better. He helps Harry pour it all into one of the deep surfaced pans, laughing at how accurate Harry makes it, layering it into a perfect square.

“Your mum taught you well,” he teases, and Harry can only nod in response.

After they put it in the oven, Harry gets the frosting ready, slapping away Louis’s hand every time he tries to sneak a bit onto his finger.

"Just a taste,” he pleads, lips in a pout.

“It’s for the cake, Lou,” Harry smiles.

“Yeah well, it’s all going to the same place anyway, isn’t it?”

After the timer beeps, Harry lets Louis pull the cake out of the oven and slather the frosting on top, the chocolate melting into the pan.

“You’re supposed to let it cool first,” Harry chides, but Louis just shrugs.

“I don’t want to wait.”

They each carry a warm slice to the couch where they pull up a stupid movie and burn their tongues, laughing around silverware and shimmering eyes. Louis looks magnificent, glassy and firm underneath the darkness of the flat, and Harry knows it will kill him tonight, when he’s lying alone on Louis’ side of the bed, breathing in nothing and exhaling on nothing, eyes open against the black of the ceiling.

He can’t sleep anymore. He wonders if Louis can, wonders if his body recognizes the cold between his legs, misses the steady heat of Harry’s body slotted into his own.

“You never answered my question,” Louis says after a while, chewing around a piece of cake. “About why we moved in together.”

Harry shrugs, licking a bit of frosting from his bottom lip, and watching the way Louis’s eyes follow. He thinks about saying something stupid, making up some story to make it seem easier, like any of this could be _easier_. Instead he rests his head back against the cushions and smiles lazily over at the older boy, legs pushed out and chest heaving.

“It just sort of happened.”

 


	12. Part twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the tardiness of the update, been swarmed with work. thank you all for the reads and comments! it's truly amazing.
> 
> also I wrote this half-asleep, so bear with it if it's a little weird.

“What’s another way to say ‘ignoring’?”

“Avoid? Evade? Neglect? Overlook? Tell me if I’ve hit gold.”

Louis nudges his foot against Harry’s calf where it’s been pressed all morning. He shifts restlessly on the couch, a sign that his leg is bothering him, and adjusts the crossword on his lap. “ _No_ Harry,” he sighs, “it has to be two words.”

Harry frowns. “Do you want me to get you some painkillers?”

He rolls his eyes. “Stop worrying about me, I’m fine. Now come on, this crossword can’t wait all day.”

Harry looks back at the television where a very unimportant football game is going on, and pretends to think. “Tune out? Turn blind eye?”

“That’s _three_ words. You’re no help at all.”

Harry laughs and watches the way the corners of Louis’s mouth turn up at the sound. Warmth coils in his chest as he tries to turn his focus away from the way Louis is sprawled out on the couch, one foot dangling off the side and the other pressed up against Harry, body slumped and inviting. He wishes he could lay down there with him.

It’d been a week since the bathroom incident. Louis hadn’t asked him any more questions since then, had given no answers in return, but the chocolate cake had disappeared within a couple of days, so Harry took that as a good sign. Louis seemed a lot less practiced as the days wore on. He became more comfortable, leaving his bedroom door open, sitting with Harry on the couch, bantering with him. It sort of felt like x-factor all over again.

He wasn’t accustomed to this Louis anymore. He remembered him, but he had disappeared a long time ago. They had grown happy together, comfortable together, but sad in the same aspect. A lot of their words became _soon_ and _not now_ and _someday_ and it was like there was this underlying ultimatum for the both of them, strangled around _you either stay secret with me or you leave_.

Harry’s line of vision blurs against the colors on the screen, blending into an endless green. He would, fuck, of course he would stay with Louis. He couldn’t just _leave_ , it wasn’t that simple. It was never that simple. But it turned them into this image of mechanical faces and mechanical touches and mechanical words. It was like if they didn’t say I love you enough it wasn’t true, and Harry hated that, hated that the words had to spoken.

Louis wouldn’t want the person Harry had become, the person their situation turned them into.

And maybe they wanted different things, maybe they believed in different things, but that never kept them apart. Harry would have gone down sacrificing every inch of him to keep even an inch of Louis. And it wasn’t that he needed the whole world to know, because he didn’t, he liked that it was theirs. But he’d like to not have to second guess himself every time he wanted to hold Louis’s hand or kiss him or whisper in his ear, and he’d really like to not have to worry about whether or not looking at Louis was going to show every piece of his heart.

Louis hums happily from Harry’s right, shuffling around a bit. “Cold shouldering! I got it.”

Harry blinks and turns to look at him. “Cold shouldering? That’s awful.”

“Blame the crossword.”

Harry snorts just as there’s a knock on the door. It sounds broken and unwelcome, because no one’s knocked for a while now. The boys let themselves in when they please, and that’s fine, works just well for the both of them. But now Harry is getting up and Louis is shifting again and he just really, _really_ wants to give him some goddamn painkillers, but.

He pads through to the front door, lips quirked down, and finds the breath being swooped out of him. “What are you doing here?” He lets out softly, eyes glancing back quickly to make sure Louis is still occupied.

Andy looks scared, eyes big and mouth pouted and her hair is a mess, windswept and frozen around her cheeks, outlined in too much blush. “I didn’t know what to do. Tesla kept telling me all of these things and I didn’t want to do anything honestly, without talking to you and Lou. And is he okay? I heard about the accident – “

“Just, shut up.” Harry ushers her in, all quick feet and long legs and a flurry of fabric.

“Who is that?” Harry hears Louis call from the sofa, and he rubs at his temples.

“No one,” he shouts back, ignoring the confused look on Andy’s face. “Did you want another cuppa? Maybe some painkillers?”

“ _Harry_ ,” he hears, and then there are footsteps, christ, and Harry feels the pulse of his heart pound against the palms of his hands. “I’ve told you about a million times – “ He stops short at the sight of Andy, hands useless at his sides, crossword clutched between his fingers.

Andy clears her throat when Harry doesn’t say anything, and smiles. “Hi Louis.”

“Hi.” He moves to stand closer to Harry, eyebrow quirked. “And who are you?”

Andy sighs, pain etched into her forehead when she responds. “Look, I get it okay? You’re angry and you have every right to be. Harry is _yours_ , I completely – “

“ _Andy_ ,” Harry snaps, eyes wide.

“Ehm, what?” Louis takes a hesitant step away now, just as cautious as day one, and Harry wants to hit something, wants to grab Louis’s arm and pull him back, tell him not to be so scared anymore. “Look sorry, we obviously knew each other but I can’t, can’t really remember.”

“This is Andy,” Harry murmurs, eyes flickering towards the crossword puzzle now pinned to his chest. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Harry thinks it’s sort of like being underwater, how everything about him is so slow but everything else around him moves too fast. He’d like to stop himself, would like to close his eyes and push until he was able to breathe again, sound and light and the world spinning right this time. He can’t swallow and everything is gathered there, spit and words and touches, and it’s tearing up his tongue, leaving a heavy ache against the roof of his mouth.

He doesn’t know why he said it; he doesn’t know why he says much of anything anymore. But Jay’s words keep popping up in his head, and he’d like to make it easier, even if just for now. Let him figure it out; let him take his own path, no matter how achingly slow. Because even if Harry is standing here a liar and walking through Tesco’s a liar and sitting on the couch with Louis a liar then he’s a liar, but he wouldn’t make Louis one that way. And Louis spent a lot of his first time a liar, all wanting hands but far away eyes.

Harry wishes the term girlfriend didn’t sound so empty, wishes it didn’t leave a bad taste curled into his teeth, wishes it didn’t make Louis take another hesitant step back, like this is something out of his control. Harry wishes that just for once Louis could feel in control, could feel safe. He’s been trying so hard to be that for him, to be something he knows he can control, can count on, can feel safe with. He wants Louis to make this flat a home again, to make Harry home again.

“Oh.” The words are barely spoken and followed by a loud, piercing cough. There’s no, _hello_ , no _it’s nice to meet you, if for the second time_ , no _I’m Louis, but you know that_. Just _oh_.

“We’re gonna go into my room and talk,” Harry mumbles, and he bites his lip at the way it sounds, because Louis isn’t meeting his eyes anymore.

“Sure. I’ll just be, you know.” He waves towards the general living room area. “Yeah okay.” He shakes his head, like he’s answering himself, like he’s beating himself up, and offers a small smile in the direction of Andy before sauntering back off, fingers running idly along the skin of his bad wrist.

Harry watches him go, the way his shoulders are rolled down, chin faced at the ground, the way he’s full of shuffling hips and small feet and an even smaller body. He feels Andy pinch his arm and he turns towards her accusingly.

“What the hell is going on?” She whispers with intent, eyebrows disappearing into her hair. “Why’d you tell him that?”

“Did Tesla not tell you anything?”

“Yeah but it was all a bit fast, really.” She turns her mouth down. “Besides you won’t answer any of my calls. Have you been online lately?” She glances back towards the living room. “Have you been out of the _flat_?”

He tugs on her arm and she gets the message, following him down the hallway and towards his room. The lights are off, have been since Louis got home, because it’s empty there now, there’s nothing to look at. He thinks that if he turns on the lights he’ll see Louis out of the corner of his eye, getting dressed by the closet, sleeping soundly into the duvet, pushing back wet fringe from his face by the bathroom door, shedding his clothes with eyes like tornadoes and hands just like them.

He flicks them on now, ignores the cold the light brings into his chest, and sits down on Louis’s side of the bed. It’s his now, though, he supposes, since Louis doesn’t sleep there anymore. The warmth from the sheets is his, now, and the smell against the pillow his. Louis had been gone from his side a long time ago, since before he’d come back to the flat. Harry had inhaled every piece of him from that room, was slowly doing it from everywhere else.

But now Louis was back, was leaving trails of himself in places Harry wouldn’t let himself remember. It’s harder to forget about him, the old Louis, _his_ Louis, when it still feels like him sitting against the cushions, eyes half-mast and fingers coiled around his _Paris_ mug.

He won’t drink from anything else anymore, and it makes Harry want to hold his breath until he drowns.

“Wow,” Andy murmurs as she shuts the door behind her. “Not much personality in this place.”

In him. Not much personality in him.

“What have I missed?” Harry scrubs a hand down his face.

“A shit storm of paparazzi pictures and rumors and _hate_.” She sighs heavily. “Your fans really don’t like it when someone gets close to you do they?”

Harry doesn’t say much of anything, just shrugs instead and leans back against the pillows.

“Saw a lot about Larry, too,” she says softer this time. She still won’t sit down. “People think I’m a beard.”

“They’re right.” Harry closes his eyes.

“Tesla says you have to come out,” Andy continues. “You know, do interviews where you confirm our relationship, go on more publicity dates with me, the bunch.”

“I know, just.” He doesn’t, not really. “Not now, it’s not a good time. Fuck.”

“What’s going on, Harry? Why is Tesla all fucking crazy and what’s with Lou and me being your girlfriend now all of a sudden?”

He’s not sure how to put it into words, everything that’s happened in the past couple of weeks. He’s not sure if he wants to find them, buried somewhere underneath his tongue, because then it’s like everything is _real_ and Louis is actually gone, from here, from his room, from his heart.

“Louis’ accident damaged his memory,” Harry gets out hoarsely, eyes still closed. “It was damaged so much that when he woke up he didn’t ask for me.”

“What are you - ?” Andy’s voice has gone unbearably quiet.

“He doesn’t remember me, or the boys for that matter. He can’t remember our relationship, can’t remember – “ _secret touches and even more secret eyes_. “Tesla made him believe Elounor was his real girlfriend.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Fiancé, actually. Didn’t know if you saw that little gem yet.”

“How could she _do_ that? That’s not protocol, that’s not _moral_.”

“’Course not,” Harry sighs. “Didn’t stop her.”

“Aren’t you going to tell him?”

He opens his eyes at that, watches the way Andy sits deflated against the end of the bed, confused, like she wouldn’t have gone about it any other way.

“Eventually.”

 _Soon_ , _not now, someday._ He thinks it’s pointless to add another one to the list.

“Harry.” Her fingers tug uselessly at her hair. “You look exhausted, you know. You’re here, all alone, taking care of him by yourself. No one’s here to take care of you.”

“I’m fine,” he bites. “Louis takes care of me.”

He does, even if it seems impossible. He still sleeps alone and brushes his teeth alone, showers alone and makes morning tea alone. But now Louis is there to share it with him, to drink the second cup, to occupy the empty part of the couch, to make noises in all the quiet parts. And maybe he can’t shut his eyes when it gets too dark, and maybe he has to hold himself so tight he can’t breathe to keep himself from walking into Louis’s room in the middle of the night, but he deals with it in his own way. And nobody can help him with that, not really.

Andy is quiet for a moment. “Why’d you tell him I was your girlfriend?”

Harry shrugs. “Because if I’m the liar this time around, maybe Louis won’t have to be.”

~

 

Harry wakes up at 12:03am to a call from Liam. It vibrates gently against the sheets, pushes them in waves against his arm, and he picks up with a groggy, “’Ello?”

“Sorry,” he answers, “thought you’d be awake.”

“My prime sleeping hours are from eleven to one in the morning, Liam, you’re interrupting my beauty rest.” He means for it to sound playful but it just sounds pathetic.

Liam laughs softly at it anyway, because he’s Liam. “Your sleeping schedule is a bit off, don’t know if you noticed.”

Harry snorts.

“Listen, there’s a reason I called.”

“Really? Is there?” He mocks, a smile curling against his teeth.

“Smart ass,” Liam mumbles. “Look, Tesla called me earlier tonight. I told her not to call you, that I’d relay the information myself.”

“Okay.” He wants to close his eyes again. Instead he gets up and pulls on a pair of joggers, throat crisp.

“She’s scheduled us for an interview tomorrow, around mid afternoon. It’s with some magazine, I’m blanking on the name, but she’s opened them to everything, Harry. There’s nothing they can’t ask. I just thought you should know.”

“Fuck.” He opens his door as quietly as he can and peers down the hall. Louis’s door is shut, so he walks expertly into the kitchen, fingers rubbing at his scalp. “She’s mental.”

“She wants Louis there too,” Liam sighs.

Harry freezes where he is, arm raised to get a mug down from the cabinet. “No.”

“Harry – “

“Absolutely not. Are you fucking _kidding_ me? They’ll go off on him, he’ll be so overwhelmed. What if they bring up things he can’t remember? What if they bring up Larry Stylinson? _Liam_.”

“I _know_ , Harry. And we’ve all got both your backs, yeah? We’ll intervene as much as we can, turn the attention away.”

Harry rests his face against the counter, bruising cool against the flush of his cheeks. “He’s made such progress, Li. I think he trusts me a bit now.”

“And what about you?” Liam sounds genuine, something that Harry loves about him. But his words are haunting the hairs on his neck. “Have you made any progress?”

Harry wishes he could shrug, wishes he didn’t have to talk anymore. “Not really.”

“Talk to me,” he murmurs, “please.”

“What do you want me to say?” He closes his eyes, wraps an arm around the nakedness of his torso. “Of course I’ve made no _progress_. I’m bloody lost without him, can’t remember how to breathe some days. I can’t remember how to close my _eyes_ , Liam, I see him everywhere. He won’t leave me the fuck alone.”

“Have you tried getting away from him? Leaving the flat, maybe? Come see one of us, you know, without him. He’s not a child, Harry, he can take care of himself.”

“I know,” Harry whispers. “I just feel like I have to do something, anything.”

Liam breathes softly on the other end for a while and Harry thinks maybe he could fall asleep to this. He’d done it several times before, when Louis had been gone with Elounor and Harry was forced alone. He’d wander into Liam’s flat and stay there for however long, listening to a whistled snore and surrounded by strong arms and rooms that smelled like laundry detergent. He’d spend the day staring at clocks and eating take out, but at least he could sleep through the night.

He hears something stir from somewhere in front of him, and lifts his head to see the silhouette of Louis’s body on the couch, back to him. It looks like he’s asleep, head tilted into the crook of his elbow, but his breathing is too quiet and he’s shifting slightly, like his leg is bothering him, so Harry knows that he’s not.

He straightens up and blinks against the outline of Louis’s skin. His fingers reach for a mug but he doesn’t think he could make tea, couldn’t stand there in the kitchen for that long knowing Louis was pretending to be asleep. He runs the tap and gulps down some water before getting himself another.

“Everything okay?” Liam asks after Harry’s chugged his way through a second cup.

“Yeah. Look, I’ll let Louis know the plan in the morning. Is a car coming to get us?”

Liam makes a soft noise on the other end. “It should be at yours around noon, I think.”

“Is Eleanor going to be there?” His voice sounds tired around her name.

“Is that even a question?”

Harry exhales on a small laugh. “And Andy?”

“Not until the end. They want to catch her going in alone and coming out with you, is what Tesla said.”

“Right.” He rubs at his eyes. “Makes sense.”

“Get some sleep. Harry,” Liam says, “or they’ll talk the whole interview about the bags under your eyes.”

“Don’t forget,” he smiles, “it’s because I’m up all night trying to get shagged.”

Liam laughs and it warms Harry’s limbs, numbing the sleep there, lulling him into heavy eyes and an even heavier head. “Night, Haz. We’ll talk more tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah. Night.”

Everything moves slowly after he hangs up. Louis stirs on the couch again, and Harry stands and watches for as long as he’ll allow, eyes taking in all the curves and shadows. He falls asleep for the second time that night remembering the way Louis’s skin felt beneath the tips of his fingers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can always find me and my works at haz-nana.tumblr.com


	13. Part thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I write at 4am, it's never any good.

Harry wakes up to dewy sheets and the sound of someone singing in the shower. He lets himself lay in the warmth of his duvet for a moment, wrapped up in creamy lyrics and the thought of flushed, tan skin. It’s bright against the backdrop of his eyelids, and he soaks that up as well, lets it paint a picture Harry wishes were real.

He’d loved mornings like these. Mornings where Louis woke up first, where he smiled so hard Harry couldn’t see his eyes, and he’d wake Harry up with a cup of hot tea and blissful, open-mouthed kisses. Those were the days he missed the most, the ones with the good starts.

Lying here, alone against the sheets and listening to Louis’ radiating happiness burst against the backs of his eyes, close but so far away, he misses even the days with the bad starts.

Harry makes himself open his eyes, dizzy with hope, and lets his chest ache for only a couple of seconds at the sight of the other half of the bed, empty and straight and all things the other half shouldn’t be. He stays there, face pressed into Louis’s old pillow, until he hears the shower in the guest bedroom shut off. Louis continues singing though, as loud as ever, and it makes Harry smile because it’s positively _beautiful_. Louis had never believed him, no matter how much Harry told him or kissed it into him, into the crinkles and crevices of his skin. He’d always been seen as the underdog of the band, both in singing quality and looks, and it hurt Harry so much to know that he couldn’t help the other piece of him, so bright and beautiful and _more_ than he could ever be, see just how bright and beautiful he really was.

Harry hopes Louis can see it now.

He rolls himself out of bed, grabbing a pair of joggers and pulling them up over his hips lazily, fingers tugging at his curls as he makes his way out towards the kitchen, desperate to drink some caffeine into his limbs. He leans his hip against the counter and puts the kettle on, rubbing at his eyes and suppressing a yawn.

He notices the _Paris_ mug still sitting by the couch from yesterday morning, and stretches his way over to it. He’s just grabbed it from the table when he hears the marimba ring tone burst out from his room, and he quickly walks back inside to answer whoever’s decided to call. He thinks it’s probably one of the boys, letting him know the plan for the day, but he finds an unknown number flashing across his screen instead.

Heading back into the kitchen, he answers. “Yeah?”

“Harry,” someone says a bit breathlessly, and it’s all too cold and familiar, opening a wound in his chest Harry thought he’d gotten rid of.

“What do you want?” He pushes the mug into the sink and turns on the tap, grabbing the soap and letting the suds soak away the crusted tea inside. “Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“Because I’m not all bad, like you take me for,” they answer, and it’s sad really, how guilty Harry feels after that. “I’ve called because I’m letting you know I can’t do this, not anymore.”

“ _Now_ you’ve decided you can’t do this? After all the fights, all the public humiliation, after you _let him propose to you at my birthday_?”

Eleanor exhales harshly on the other end. “That was _different_ , Harry. There was meant to be an end, there was meant to be _boundaries_. But Louis honest to god thinks we’re in a relationship now. You should have seen the way he _tried_ , like it wasn’t natural for him to love me, but he thought he did anyway. There’s no end to this story, Harry, and it needs to end. I don’t feel right taking advantage of him like this.”

Louis had gone to visit Eleanor a couple days after moving back into the flat. They’d been to talk to Tesla, and Harry really didn’t want to ask about it, didn’t want to hear all the ways in which Louis was trying with Elounor instead of with Harry. His lips open like a floodgate though, because he can’t keep it tucked away now.

“What happened? Please, just.”

“Nothing like you think,” she says gently. “It was awkward because he kept doing things he thought he was supposed to be doing, you know, but it was behind scenes, away from cameras. And it makes sense, because he thinks we’re in a relationship but.” Eleanor inhales deeply. “It felt so wrong. I felt like such a _bitch_ the entire time, because he kept touching me when he wasn’t supposed to be.”

Harry scrubs at the mug, neck warm, and lets the cold water run down his wrists.

“He hasn’t been taking any of my calls, if it makes you feel any better. I think he’s confused.”

The kettle screams against the stovetop and he rushes over to take it off, lid steaming. His head is pounding and the thought of tea keeps getting increasingly less appetizing and all he wants to do is close his eyes and sleep Louis away.

“Fuck,” he gets out, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead.

“Is that a good swear?” Eleanor asks, and Harry lets out a sad laugh.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m telling Tesla after I get off the phone with you. I’d like to wait with Louis though, because I know he’s got his first interview today. Good luck with that, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs. “Look, thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Harry. After all I’ve done. And I’d never even talked to you, never let us clear up the air about this whole situation.”

Harry turns off the tap and dries off the _Paris_ mug, setting it against the granite before pouring hot water into it. He grabs English Breakfast from the top shelf in the cabinet and lets it steep into the spaces between his fingers.

“I know,” he says finally. “I’d promised him, you know.” His mouth feels bitter and dry and all things ugly. “I’d promised him I’d try for him, with you. You guys were friends, I know – “

Eleanor snorts on the other end. “Sure. He talked about you, though, all those endless nights away from home. He talked about you, talked my goddamn ear off. I thought if I got him drunk enough he’d stop but it just got worse from there, to be honest.”

Harry’s laugh is watery and he doesn’t know why the sting behind his throat is so surprising. He coughs into his fist and leans back to open the fridge, grabbing the milk and setting it next to the kettle. He leaves his mug empty.

“You’re making this so much worse,” he gets out.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and it’s hard to hear against the backdrop of Louis singing. It’s confusing, how the colors balance themselves around his ears. Louis is happy, it’s obvious, but _oblivious_ to the fact that Harry is standing only a few feet away talking to who he thinks is his girlfriend about the way things used to be, when Louis only had to be hers for the cameras, was his everywhere else.

He hears the guest bedroom door open from behind him, and quickly curls into the corner of the counter, body closed. Louis pads up behind him and smiles silently, mouths _morning_ , before reaching for the mug of tea. Crinkles break out against the blues of his eyes when he notices it’s the _Paris_ mug, and glances not very discreetly back towards the couch, like he’s trying to make sure he’d really left it there yesterday.

“I know,” Harry murmurs in response to Eleanor, and lets his eyes meet Louis’ when the boy looks up at the sound of his voice. “Look, I’ve got to go. Just, send me a quick text or something, let me know how it goes.”

“Yeah, of course, seems I owe you that much.”

He hangs up with a quick goodbye, and slips his phone into the pocket of his joggers.

“Thanks for the tea,” Louis says. “Who was on the phone?”

Harry forces himself to smile, watches the way Louis’ seems to falter at the sight of it. “Just Niall. Says he’s going to try and wake Zayn up with a blow horn.”

Louis raises his eyebrows at that, and glances down at his tea. “Crazy, that.”

He laughs nervously and reaches for the kettle, just so he has something to do with his hands. “Yeah. Look, Liam called last night. We’ve got an interview later this afternoon, and a car should be around to pick us up before noon for hair and makeup.” He glances over at Louis, lets himself take in all the parts of him. “I can see you’re already done up, though.”

Louis blushes at that, and Harry doesn’t get it, doesn't fucking _get it_. His hair is still wet; a mess of fringe against his forehead, and it nearly sucks the breath out of Harry, how much the image of him with damp skin and wet fringe and tight, stretched clothes screams Louis to him, screams x-factor and secrets and late night kisses and curious touches and _Elounor_.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, stirring the milk into his tea with his pinky. “Don’t really look the part of a boy bander though.” He gestures towards his hair. “Couldn’t really remember how I’d styled it.”

“That’s okay,” Harry shrugs, putting the kettle back against the stove. “Lou will show you, don’t worry.”

“Lou?”

“Our stylist,” Harry answers.

“Oh, right.” He nods, taking his pinky out and wiping it against the crease of his shirt. “Sure.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows and picks at the wood trimming of the counter top. “It’s okay, you know, that you can’t remember all these things.”

“I _know_ that,” Louis snaps. He takes a shaky breath. “I just hate feeling so _stupid_.”

Harry shakes his head. “Not stupid. Never stupid.”

Louis doesn’t answer, just sips silently from his tea, fingers gripped tightly around the mug, tips pressed tightly into the _P_. “Do you think it’ll ever come back?”

Harry’s surprised by the question. He’s not really sure how to answer, not without revealing just how much he wishes it would.

“Sometimes I think it won’t.” Louis shrugs against his words, and Harry hates it.

“ _Now_ you’re being stupid,” Harry answers, and Louis’s eyes flick up to meet with his. “Of course it’ll come back.”

Louis smiles around the curve of his mug.

 

~

 

When the car comes to pick them up, Harry squeezes himself between Liam and Niall, desperate to touch someone, and he couldn’t _touch_ Louis. He wraps an arm around Niall’s shoulders, fingers curling around the edge of his sleeve, and smiles wide.

“Someone is rather cheery this morning,” Niall smiles back. “Did you get laid or somethin’?”

Harry snorts, appreciative of Niall trying to lighten the mood, and listens to the echoing of Zayn and Liam’s laughter before responding. “For as long as you’ve known me, has sex ever put me in a good mood?”

Niall cocks an eyebrow. “You really want me to answer that?”

“You’re right, cheers.”  

The boys laugh and Harry can hear it, the nervous laughter of Louis masked beneath them, like he’s trying to get it and can’t. Harry wishes he’d stop.

“So what do you reckon they’re going to ask us?” Zayn asks after the car pulls away from their flat.

“Oh, you know,” Liam says, rolling his eyes. “They’ll ask Zayn about Perrie and his religion, and literally everything else besides his _art_ and _music_ , and then they’ll probably ask Harry about all the women he’s shagged and whether or not that’s brought a riff between him and _Andy_ – “ He cocks an eyebrow at the name, before continuing on. “And of course they’ll ask Louis about his accident and how it’s affected his relationship with the grand beard – “

Harry smacks an arm across Liam’s chest roughly. “ _Eleanor_.”

“Shit, yeah.” Liam rubs at his reddening cheeks. “I meant Eleanor.”

Louis seems very unresponsive, eyes flickering between Harry and Liam. Niall starts laughing to even out the mood, and Harry wants to kiss him on the lips.

“Got it in the bag, Payner!”

“’Course he did,” Harry preens, ruffling his hair. “Li always does.”

Louis is uncharacteristically silent the rest of the ride there, and Harry hates himself, really hates himself, because he’s supposed to be making this _safe_ for him, making himself _safe_ for Louis, but instead he’s making an arse out of himself and letting Louis feel stupid as ever, caught up in a conversation he doesn’t understand.

When they arrive at the building, there’s endless screaming and dark, faceless silhouettes pressing against the car windows, and Harry notices the shake to Louis’s fingers, how his wrist doesn’t respond properly when he tries to press it between his knees. Harry realizes very suddenly that Louis isn’t accustomed to crowds anymore, especially not crowds like these, and he barely has time to process this before the door is opening and security is pulling them out.

The sound is deafening, and he focuses on Louis in front of him, head faced down and body trembling. There are a million signs, all for Louis, wishing him better, and a few for the other boys. They’re there, though, he notices, the signs about Larry Stylinson, saying they still believe true in their fate, even if memory has fallen through.

Harry bites down on his bottom lip and presses up against Louis’s back, the other boys following the same process against him, and he places his hands gently on the older boys shoulders. The shaking stops, he notices, just as he breathes into the shell of his ear, “I’ve got you.”

Security pulls them through into the building and Harry releases Louis as soon as they’re through the doors. Louis turns his head slightly to look back, like he’s wondering why, before taking his bottom lip into his mouth and following the other boys into hair and makeup.

Harry watches Louis through his mirror the entire time.

When they’re finally called into the interview, Brad tells him it’s best to stay seated on the opposite end of the couch from Louis, you know, for publicity reasons.

It goes surprisingly well in the beginning. The interviewer isn’t too much of a dick, and Harry appreciates his sympathy towards Louis, if that’s what he could call it. Louis doesn’t seem too phased, it’s not like he’s new to being in the spotlight, but Harry can tell it’s a bit confusing, the way his eyes can’t stay in one place.

“So Louis,” the interviewer begins again, “how are things going with your memory? Any improvements?”

“No,” he answers softly, “not really. But I don’t feel a lot of pressure about it or anything.”

“And how are things with Eleanor? She the one taking care of you?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, she’s not. I’m living with Harry. He’s great about it, makes me food and everything.” Harry meets his eyes as he glances over at him. “He even made me chocolate cake a few nights back.”

“That’s good to hear,” the interviewer laughs. “Glad to see Larry Stylinson hasn’t fallen because of the accident.”

“Sorry?” Louis asks.

“Chocolate cake?” Niall interrupts, and Harry loves him, lets himself exhale on the breath he’s been holding. “Haz never makes _me_ chocolate cake.”

“Yeah, where’s the hidden baking talents when you’re over staying at my place?” Liam asks, kicking his ankle lightly. Harry nudges back. _Thank you_.

The interviewer chuckles and ruffles his notes. “So Lou, sorry to keep coming back to this but all of us are terribly interested. What’s it like with Eleanor now? How’s the relationship going since the accident?”

Louis’s smile falters a bit, but he keeps his eyes crinkled, and that’s something. “It’s alright, yeah. I’m trying to get back into the swing of things, but Harry makes it easier, he doesn’t treat me like an idiot.”

 _Harry, Harry, Harry_. Harry swallows nervously and glances off camera, meeting eyes with a confused Brad and a very angry Tesla. He wants to cry, honestly, right in the middle of this couch, because Louis wasn’t _allowed_ to just turn things around like that, wasn’t _allowed_ to just put Harry there in the middle of his words, so real and nonchalant, like he wasn’t even thinking.

But they couldn’t prep him for this. It would have raised too many questions, brought on too many painful answers, and Harry has to keep his eyes looking at his trainers and away from Louis or else it’ll show, the pieces of his heart, and he has to keep the rumors at bay right now, for Louis. He can’t risk having another girl analyze the crap out of this interview for the sake of their relationship.

The interviewer manages to turn the questions away from Louis and on to something with Liam, about how he’s still single after Danielle, and that’s when Harry lets himself risk a look up. He finds blue eyes looking back.

“So _Harry_ ,” the interviewer chuckles, “young, Harry. Curious minds want to know, what’s up with this new girl from your party a few weeks back?”

Harry’s lips quirk up and he hopes people mistake it for cheeky. “Ehm, yeah, well that’s Andy. We’re old childhood friends, from Cheshire.”

“Andy, what an interesting name. And how is it she got into your party? It was obviously a surprise.”

“She’s quite charming,” Harry laughs, and he’s surprised by how _natural_ this is all starting to feel, at least as natural as all of this could. “When we were younger, and like, wanted to go skating, she’d charm the pants off the entrance staff to let us in, 'cus we didn’t have the money. So I’m assuming that’s how she probably got in.”

“Not to mention she’s gorgeous,” the interviewer tags on, and Harry makes himself smile wider. “Yeah, you know.”

“Well, I’ve got eyes,” he shrugs.

“So tell us, she your girlfriend then?”

Louis furrows his eyebrows slightly. “Course she’s his girlfriend.”

Harry feels his neck grow hot as the interviewer turns towards Louis. “Is she?”

“Yeah, came to visit him last night.”

The interviewer whistles and Harry wishes Louis would shut up, because he doesn’t know, doesn’t know fucking _anything_ about how this all works. Brad is motioning at the cameraman, trying to get the interviewers attention. They look up and immediately back off.

“Well, suppose we can’t reveal all, can we?”

The rest of the interview is full of Niall and Zayn and Harry doesn’t let himself look at Louis once.

 

~

 

“That was _shit_ ,” Harry breathes out, leaning forward in his chair.

“Would you quit _moving_? Or do you want to look like shit too when you go back outside to sign all those raging hormones' notebooks?”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, leaning back and letting Lou ruffle through his hair, hairspray filling up his nose. “Just, _fuck_ , Lou.”

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I cringed while watching it? Because I cringed.”

“You’re awful.”

“Make a vine about it.”

Harry reaches back to slap her side and she laughs harshly, tugging at his curls in retaliation. Andy wanders in moments later, hair wispy and a coat around her shoulders. A small smile tugs at her lips when she sees him.

“Hey, how’d the interview go?”

“Shit,” Lou responds with a sigh, and Harry reaches back to smack her again. “Oi, would you like me to shave all your hair off then?”

Andy laughs. “Sorry that it was shit. Good news though, I get to take you out to coffee, so.”

Harry groans. “Sorry, not that you aren’t great or anything, but I _hate_ this.”

“It’s okay,” she answers, “me too, I get it.”

The rest of the boys wander in, Niall with a bowl of Cheetos and Liam shoving Zayn playfully, while Louis meanders behind them, rubbing at his angered wrist and biting his bottom lip.

“Hey Andy,” they all call out in unison, and Harry feels even more like shit now.

Louis comes over to him, eyebrows knitted together. He’s wearing a jumper now, one that Harry recognizes as his. The sleeves are rolled up against his elbows, the scoop of the collar low, and it hangs almost to his knees. Harry wonders if he’d mistaken it as Louis’s when cleaning out their room; he doesn’t think he’s ever worn it more than a few times.

“Did I do something wrong?” He murmurs, eyes flickering over to Andy. “During the interview?”

Lou stops with his hair and clears her throat. “Hey Andy, I think maybe I can fix you up a bit before you go back outside. Wanna follow me over here?”

Harry looks up at her, thankful, before turning to look back at Louis, small and hidden beneath the frame of Harry’s jumper. “No, not really. Just, you have to be careful, what you say.”

His eyes widen slightly. “I’m sorry, if whatever I did was – “

“Louis,” Harry sighs, “stop. It’s fine, it’s not like you got a crash course in this. But the public didn’t _know_ Andy was my girlfriend. Like sure, you did, but _they_ didn’t. And that stuff is up to me and management to reveal, you know, all in good time.”

“Shit,” Louis breathes. “Harry, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, stop, it’s okay.” It's not, it's not okay, none of this is okay.

“Okay, okay, shit, sorry.” He rolls his eyes at himself. “Right, yeah.”

Harry laughs. “I’m sure Brad will help you figure it all out.”

Louis sighs. “Thanks, really. You’ve been sort of great, about all this.”

Harry lets his eyes narrow in on Louis, and the rest of the room sort of blurs out, noises blending into the background. He looks like a child, almost, but Harry can still see him there, beneath the fear and the tremors. He reaches out slowly and tugs at the hem of Louis’s jumper, a smile touching the corners of his lips.

“I like this on you, looks nice.”

“Yeah,” Louis smiles back, “me too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me and my works at haz-nana.tumblr.com


	14. Part fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the late update, had a bit of a lull in my writing inspiration. hopefully what I've written is okay! then again it was my mind at 5am.

The kitchen light seeping in through the glass is bright, orange and fire and hot, tastes like honey almost, and Harry finds it hard to look straight at it, thinks that if he did he’d see Louis instead. It’s the first sunny day in a while, a bit strange near the end of winter, and Harry’s head is ablaze, rushes of warmth seeping and settling against bones, quiet, but still there. Today feels like a good day.

He hadn’t really had any of those lately, and it wasn’t that he had bad days, just that he felt more like he was floating, walking through seconds and minutes and hours like they were frozen, iced over all the parts where Louis was a beacon and Harry didn’t have to watch from across the bay.

That’s what was hard, what was scary. It was having to know that he’d seen this boy, naked, flushed, beautiful, real, _raw_ , basked in all the colors of the night sky against all of the colors of Harry, and that he didn’t even _know_ , didn’t even remember. It was invasive, Harry knew. But he couldn’t help it, the way his mind wandered at night, thinking of sunburn skin and stretched smiles.

Harry knew parts of him that Louis didn’t even know about himself yet. He knew parts of him that Louis didn’t know he knew, parts he probably wasn’t ready to share. And Harry felt like an intruder, at all the wrong times, in all the wrong places.

But there were parts of Harry, too, that Louis couldn’t remember, parts that Harry felt like he should know. And it was like Harry believed Louis deserved them, every smile, every word, every hiccup of a giggle, because Louis deserved everything, really. But it was hard, with so much give and so little take.

Harry needed the take, needed to feel important, loved, _needed_. And even when they were together it was sparse, rare, but when it happened it was like a black hole, dark and universe big, enveloping him in this cradle of touches, like stars behind his eyes, like _Louis_.

Harry closes his eyes against the sun, takes a deep breath and lets it consume him, lets it wrap around his shoulders and hold him there. He has a little bit of time before he needs to get fully up and dressed, presentable for the general public. The other boys were on their way over, ready to spend some time with Louis. Or at least Liam had made it sound that way, but Harry knew it was really to get Harry away, give him a breather, let him remember who he was without Louis there.

Harry’s not entirely sure anymore, doesn’t think there’s ever been a him without Louis.

“Oh god,” Harry hears from behind him, “is this some sort of, finding the light kind of thing? Should I be worried?”

Harry blinks his eyes open, a small, hopeless smile blooming against the curves of his lips. He watches as Louis sidles up next to him, reaching up to grab a mug from the cabinet and starting the kettle. He looks beautiful, it nearly knocks the air right out from his lungs, how Louis can wake up with pillow creases and damp hair and oversized pants and still look like home.

He smells like it too.

“Did you use my shampoo?” Harry blurts out.

Louis’s cheeks glow, his fingers fiddling with the _Paris_ mug like a lifeline. “Yeah, well, it smells better than mine. Besides, I want to sprout some curls like yours, isn’t it obvious?”

Harry wants to cry, but he thinks that might seem like a weird reaction to a seemingly normal situation. He licks his lips, thoughtful, heart erratic against his chest, and it hurts, really, really hurts, slamming against all his nonexistent spaces.

Louis smiles, less than hesitant, at the look on Harry’s face. He’s not really sure what he looks like right now, probably the mix between a grimace and a smile. He probably looks like he’s on the toilet.

“It smells like _flowers_ , Harry, like sunshine flowers and lilacs or something. You _would_ wash your hair with girl shampoo wouldn’t you, because who even _are_ you, really?”

Harry manages to get his face into some sort of enamored state before saying, “have you quite finished?”

Louis tilts his shoulders up, turning his mouth down like he’s trying really hard not to smile. “’Dunno, could go on for days, really.”

Harry hums at that, raising an eyebrow and dishing out the butter from the fridge, his toast close to being ready. “Well then I suppose I could always stop buying it, you know, get myself something manly, like head and shoulders.” He snaps his fingers. “Or even better! I could get myself some Old Spice, smell like ice, wind and freedom?”

“Don’t think that’d suit you, to be honest.”

“Too American?”

“Too _anything_.” The kettle whistles and Louis makes for it, pouring the water into his mug and turning it a murky brown. “Don’t need you to be anything, really. Strawberries and sunshine fit you just fine, I think.”

“Thanks,” Harry gets out, before turning away and grabbing his toast from the toaster, hot against his fingertips. He spreads the butter on slowly, watches it melt into pools, and nearly gets lost in the way Louis had said, _don’t need you to be anything, really_.

When Harry had told Louis he was gay, it was a long time after x-factor, and an even longer time after they’d established what they were together. It was sort of out of the blue, sort like a, _here I am_ , _take me or leave me_ , even though Louis had already taken him and it was already very clear Harry was interested in men. But he’d told him quietly, safe in the dips of their mattress, faces pressed against bare skin and arms wrapped around holes, limbs tangled, and it was breathless, like telling Louis was telling the whole world.

“I’m gay,” he’d murmured, fingers dancing along Louis’s hip where he was hugged close against him, the night air stagnant against their summer skin.

Louis had snorted. “Hadn’t noticed.”

Harry’d nudged his nose against the back of his neck, words whispered into the dip of his spine there. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m just _saying_ ,” Louis had retorted, shifting around until he was facing the younger boy. “You’re with me, so.”

“And you’re with me, so.” Harry’d smiled, their foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, lips brushing, all the colors of the world brushing, blending together in pieces and parts, and maybe they didn’t always blend the way an artists mind saw them, but they blended together anyway.

Louis’d closed his eyes, eyelashes tickling the bridge of Harry’s nose. “I love you,” he’d whispered. “That’s all I can give, all I can define, all I _know_.”

“Lou.” Harry remembers heat, so much heat, and fingers tight against Louis’s naked torso. “I don’t need you to _be_ anything for me.”

“I know.” Louis’s hands had fumbled against Harry’s back, awkward and new and beautiful. “But one day I’ll know.”

“Don’t need you to know anything but me. Just me, yeah?”

“Just you, yeah,” Louis had whispered. “Fuck, Harry, just you, always you.”

Louis’s spoon clattering hard against the counter breaks Harry away from his thoughts, butter melted through to grease on his toast now. He looks up as Louis swears quietly, bitterly, fingers grasped around his bad wrist.

“You could try a heating pad, you know,” Harry says slowly, afraid his words might break. “The heat, it’ll relax the tendons, or something.” He furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head, knife digging into his toast to try and spread the butter more. “I think that’s a thing.”

He hears Louis exhale breathlessly on a laugh, his eyes turning to find the younger boy in a flurry of color. “You think that’s a thing?”

Harry shrugs. “I mean.” He’s trying to breathe, he really is, but it’s rather hard when Louis keeps _looking_ at him like that, lips parted slightly and his eyebrows concentrated. It’s the look he gets when he’s trying to remember, trying to conjure up images and moments out of jawlines and eyelashes, and it’s hard almost, to see him so adamant about remembering something his mind won’t let him have back.

Harry calmly finishes with his toast, pulse quickening under Louis’s gaze. He hates that, hates how Louis doesn’t even have to _try_ and he still manages to put Harry in a state. He watches from the corner of his eye as Louis reaches up slowly, fingers curled, and brings them to his own lips. He drags his forefinger along his bottom lip harshly before jerking away, like there was something attached to the touch. His eyes won’t leave, though.

Harry looks over finally, eyebrow cocked up and mouth quirked down. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just.” He cuts himself off, exhaling harshly. “Thought maybe I remembered something. It’s stupid.”

“No,” Harry breathes, throat closing up, “it’s not.”

Louis shrugs, looking down at his mug, turning it slightly with his bad wrist. “Just thoughts, really. I don’t think they’re memories.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Louis’s movements still, his lips pressing together in a tight line. “Don’t think I can.”

Harry nods once at that. “Sure.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Harry watches Louis from the corner of his eye, the way he sips his tea carefully, fingers shaky and eyes distant. Harry wishes he knew what was going on inside of his head.

“How are you and Andy?”

Harry chokes on the piece of toast he was chewing, coughing for an embarrassingly amount of time before saying, “we’re, yeah.”

“You’re, yeah?” Louis quirks an eyebrow, leaning back against the countertop. “That seems interesting.”

 “No,” Harry coughs, “no. We’re, um.”

He’s saved by the front door opening and the hollering of the three other boys, footsteps clamoring against the hardwood towards the kitchen. Louis stares at him blankly, lips pursed, before Zayn throws an arm around his shoulder and Niall tackles Harry almost literally to the ground.

“Christ,” Harry breathes, “what are you, a spider monkey?”

Niall lands a sloppy kiss onto Harry’s cheek with a loud smack, his legs tight around Harry’s waist. “The one and only! Now what are the plans for the day? Have you guys eaten breakfast yet?”

“Well I _was_ , you leprechaun,” Harry grunts, but he keeps Niall on his back anyway. “But just toast, nothing remarkable.”

“The great cook makes _toast_?” Niall guffaws. “That will not do, Hazza.”

“I’m quite aware. It seems you have an idea?”

Liam snorts. “Wouldn’t shut up about it on the ride over here.”

“You mean you _carpooled_?”

“Oh god,” Zayn groans, “you make us sound like some weird, suburban family.”

Harry laughs. “That’s because you are one. Liam the soccer mom, Zayn the hard working business man of a dad, and Niall the trouble maker son with no lid on his energy levels.”

“Hey,” Liam smiles, like he’s put off but really not.

“Just need a mini-van,” Zayn sighs.

“ _Anyways_ ,” Niall interrupts, dropping off from Harry’s back, “like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted. My idea is that we have a giant breakfast buffet type thing, with pancakes and bacon and eggs and potatoes and the likes.”

“And who exactly is going to make this buffet?” Harry asks, eyebrow raised expectantly.

“You of course!” Niall pats him roughly on the shoulder. “Cartoons are good this morning, mate.”

“We can’t just leave young Harold to fend for himself,” Louis speaks up, and his voice is like magnetism, molten underneath Harry’s skin.

“Then _you_ help him, how about, while the rest of us watch cartoons, yeah?” Zayn gives a thumbs up, eyes flickering to Harry. “Right, good plan. Call us when breakfast is ready.”

Zayn and Niall scamper off, pulling a very confused Liam with them, leaving Harry and Louis alone in the kitchen once again, like nothing had changed.

“Right,” Harry sighs.

“That happen often?” Louis smiles, like he doesn’t even care that he can’t remember it does, almost every day off. Harry likes this, likes the way Louis looks when he’s trying to build memories of his own instead of trying to rebuild old ones out of dusted movements and lingered looks.

“All the time,” Harry says, picking at his now very cold, oily toast. “Take me and my cooking skills for granted, it’s awful.”

“So awful,” Louis smiles, teasing.

 _I won’t let anybody hurt you_.

Harry smiles back, eyes hopeful, before he feels his phone vibrate from inside his joggers pocket. Andy’s name sits against the screen, the unlock button flashing against his eyes, and he hesitates before swiping his thumb over it, throwing a look at Louis as he puts the speaker against his ear.

“Hey Andy, what’s up?”

Louis gets this distant look in his eyes again, looks down at his tea.

“Shit, shit, _shit_ , Harry I am so sorry, I _swear_ this wasn’t supposed to happen – “

“Whoa, Andy, slow down,” he murmurs, casting a worried glance out the window. “What’s happened?”

“They _found out_ , Harry. And Tesla, god, fuck, she’s _livid_. She’s on her way over to mine right now.”

“Found out _what_?” Harry’s heart is pounding in his chest, fingers slick against the case of his phone.

“That we were set up,” she breathes out slowly on the other end. “Some pap published a picture of me with Tesla arriving at your flat before we were supposed to have met. Fuck, _fuck_ , Harry I’m so sorry – “

Harry closes his eyes and lets the rest of her words wash away. He thinks he should feel angry, should feel scared, should feel like his whole world is crumbling against this. But instead relief clouds his vision, white against black against grey, and he lets himself breathe, lets himself inhale too deep.

There’s a car horn blaring in the background and shuffling from the other end of the phone, and Harry waits patiently for Andy to speak up again.

“That’s Tesla, she’s just picked me up. We’re on our way to your flat, okay? So just, get Louis out of there or _something_ – “

Harry’s eyes burn and they’re not even open.

“ – we’re like, five minutes away. _Harry_.”

He thinks it shouldn’t be this painful, shouldn’t wreck his head like this, because this wasn’t just the media finding out he was in the middle of a PR stunt, this was a _cover-up_ , this was finding out something deeper. And it wasn’t supposed to happen this way, wasn’t supposed to happen without Louis. And now he’s alone, all fucking alone in this.

“Yeah,” he gets out, fingers curled into curls, white-hot blistering pain creeping against his scalp. “Okay.”

He hangs up after that, palms sweaty, and leans back against the granite, eyelids heavy. Louis is still standing across from him, tea unsteady in his hands.

“Everything okay?” he asks after a minute, eyes soft.

“Zayn,” he gets out, because fuck, _no_ , this wasn’t supposed to be happening, not like this, not now, not – “Please get Zayn.”

Louis nods, setting down his tea and leaving the kitchen.

Harry collapses against the tiled floor as soon as he leaves, chest heaving. His whole body feels rigid, lungs and limbs and neck rigid, and he can’t breathe, can’t get anything deep enough to fill him up. He clutches at his cross necklace as he leans forward, desperately trying to find a way not to puke and yet somehow breathe at the same time.

This was _happening_. This wasn’t some scare, or some fan figuring out that Harry and Louis were MIA at the same time, this was _real_ , this was scary.

Zayn comes in moments later, alone thankfully, and as soon as he sees Harry hunched over on the ground he turns back quickly, fingers gripping the archway. “Liam! Bring Harry’s inhaler!”

“I’ve got it!” Louis yells back instead, and _what_? He comes running back in moments later, Harry’s inhaler in hand, and it makes his lungs close up even more, because there’s no explanation for this, no explanation for _Louis lost his memory but somehow he knows where you keep your inhaler_ and he doubles over again, wheezing.

“Shit,” Zayn says, kneeling down next to him, fingers tight on his back. He grabs the inhaler from Louis and thrusts it into Harry’s face. “Come on, Haz.”

Harry grips it desperately, wrapping his mouth around it and pressing in deep, feeling the cold wash of the medicine down his throat, painful and beautiful all at once. His lungs are squeezing less, body squeezing less, and so he slumps back against the bottom cabinets, closing his eyes and trying to take deep, full breaths.

“What the hell,” Zayn breathes, “has got you in such a state?”

“Andy,” he gets out. In through his nose, out through his mouth. “Fuck, they found out, everyone’s found out.”

Zayn stills beside him, and Louis just looks lost. “You mean our management was stupid enough not to _pay off the paps_?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replies, head shaking. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Okay, okay.” Zayn wraps an arm around him, fingernails light against his curls. “It’ll be okay, we’ll figure this out, yeah?”

“What’s left to figure out? This is _it_. Zayn. This isn’t some rumor or PR stunt this is something I lied about to cover something _up_.”

Zayn glances up at Louis, and Harry feels like suffocating, wishes his lungs would close up again. “We get through everything together. We’ll get through this together.”

“ _I can’t do it_ ,” Harry whimpers. _Pathetic_ is what he is, fucking pathetic. A fucking coward. “I can’t do it.”

“No one says you have to do anything,” Zayn murmurs, petting at his hair. “Not yet. Besides, this is still your choice, we can still cover it up – “

“Is there even a point in that? This is what I always wanted, right? Them finding out, so I wouldn’t have to tell.”

“Not the same, you know that.”

Harry knows, he knows that, he fucking knows.

A loud banging on the door startles them all out of their circle, and Louis breaks away to answer the door, leaving Zayn and Harry on the kitchen floor. Zayn presses a kiss to his temple, eyes closed. It’s a promise.

“Um,” he hears Louis say, “Tesla and Andy are here?”

Harry looks up to find a very red faced Andy, freckles burnt out against her skin, and next to her a very enraged Tesla, mouth disgusted, eyes disgusted, whole body and face disgusted.

It isn’t _his_ fault, that he got caught, isn’t his fault this is how everything turned out; him being gay and Andy being a cover up and Louis getting hit by a fucking car and his memory left creased into the sidewalk and Andy being discovered and not his _bloody fucking fault_ no one can do their job right.  

Tesla immediately throws the mornings paper at him, but he doesn’t look at it, knows exactly what it shows.

“Want to explain how this happened?”

Harry glares up at her, because _no_. “This is not _my_ fault,” he growls. “This was _your_ job.”

Tesla raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow, lips quivering with anger. “Excuse me?”

“You have one job, Tesla, you go on about it all the _fucking time_ ,” he breathes. “And now how am I supposed to go on hiding?” Harry leans back into Zayn’s touch, face in his hands. “You’ve fucked it up, now _give me options_.”

Tesla is quiet for a moment, before she says very, very slowly, “Harry, there aren’t any.”

Harry knows this, he _knows_ this, he fucking knows. And he feels it now, the fear, because he’s scared shitless about this, about coming out. He feels forced somehow, because it’s not on his own terms, not him, not right. He was supposed to do it with Louis; this was supposed to be for _them_. Now it’s about him and it feels wrong, sits wrong.

“So here’s how we can go about this,” Tesla starts. “You can issue a statement, if you’d like, officially coming out, or we can allow the public to speculate while we address the fact that no, you and Andy are not dating, and the stunt at the party was for PR.”

“What?” Louis interjects, and Harry almost forgot he was in the same room. “Not dating?”

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, and he feels Zayn’s fingers strong against his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says softly, “I’m just – I don’t understand.”

“Go on Harry,” Tesla sighs, “tell him then.”

Harry wipes a hand down his face, jaw tight and throat swollen. “Andy and I were never dating, Lou. It was a set up, to protect me, to protect – “ He cuts himself off, swallowing hard. 

Louis stares. “Protect you from what?”

“What is it I’m called again?” Harry shoots a look at Tesla. “A womanizer? Not exactly women I’m interested in, is it.”

Louis looks at Harry carefully, fingers clasped so tightly together there’s white seeping in around his knuckles. “You lied to me?”

“Avoided the truth,” Harry mumbles in response.

“No, you _lied_.”

“That’s not fair,” Harry whispers, “that’s not fair of you to say.”

Louis furrows his eyebrows, shoulders tense. “Not fair? You deliberately said, and I quote, ‘she’s my girlfriend – “

“I’d already told you!”

The room feels too close, all of a sudden, everything too close. It’s like he can feel Louis’s breath, hot against the back of his neck, fingers tight around his wrists, lips pressing against skin so hot it could burst into flames, and he feels sick with it, with the way touches sink in underneath his fingernails, grab a hold of his roots, bring him to this point.

No, it wasn’t _fucking fair_.

Harry chokes, and he feels Zayn tighten his grip on him, like an anchor. “I’d already told you. How was I supposed to find the courage to tell you again?”

_Soon, not now, someday._

Louis presses the heels of his hands against his eyes and Harry hears it, the way his breath is unsteady, the way his wrist is unsteady. Because it wasn’t telling Louis he was gay, that Harry needed courage for, it was telling him that it was _Louis_ , always fucking Louis.

Louis who knew he’d be famous, Louis who stared at him like he was made up from the sun, Louis who stayed every year, every night, every second, Louis whose lips lied when Harry’s eyes couldn’t, Louis who kissed him, loved him, touched him, when the world believed the opposite.

It wasn’t ever _I’m gay_ , it was always _it’s you_ , and Harry isn’t brave enough for that, not yet, not again.

“I’m sorry I can’t fucking remember everything about you.”

“No,” Harry gets out, because _no_ , “that’s not what I meant.”

“That’s _exactly_ what you meant. I can’t remember, but that doesn’t mean you get to _lie_ – “

“So you want me to lay everything out on the table for you, then?” Harry’s fingers clench against his knees. “You want me to just tell you everything you can’t remember, everything you’ve missed?”

“No, I – “

“You can’t just expect me to get over this quicker than you,” Harry says softly. His lungs hurt and his head hurts and he just needs to say this, needs to say something. “You can’t just expect me to get over this at _all_. There are pieces of me you don’t remember anymore, but that doesn’t give you the right to just ask me for them, like you deserve all those pieces back.”

Louis is staring down at his hands and fuck, he can’t even _look_ at him.

“We were different people, when I told you things. We’re different now, and you can’t just expect me to give everything back so fast. We were best friends before, Lou, we told each other everything, _did_ everything, together, and now we’re not.” Harry curls his tongue back into his mouth before he can say something to fuck this up more, things like _I miss you_ , _I love you, you deserve every piece of me, I deserve every piece of you too_. But he’s probably fucked enough up already.

Louis is shaking, his fingers like waves against his thighs. “Yeah.”

And then he’s leaving, footsteps disappearing quickly into his room, door loud against the silence in Harry’s head. Zayn exhales loudly beside him, fingers falling from his hair and back into his lap.

“Shit, Harry,” is all he says.

Tesla lets out a hum of agreement before shifting awkwardly on her feet. “So, how exactly are we going to fix this?”

“I don’t know,” Harry murmurs, looking down at the floor. “I’m not sure what I want to do yet. This is all different, it’s all coming out differently than how I thought it would.”

“We need to deal with this now, Harry. PR is pushing and the media isn’t going to like us staying quiet.”

“Then let them speculate for now,” he replies. “Let them speculate until I figure out what I want to do.”

Tesla nods once shortly before rising to her feet. “Understandable decision. I’ll call you later with press details. You’ll need to state something about you and Andy before tomorrow evening.”

Harry nods, robotic.

 

~

 

 

Harry stares up against the ceiling, darkness like a cloud, and wills sleep to wash over him. He thinks it shouldn’t be this hard, to get used to an empty bed. He’d done it before, when Louis was gone with Eleanor, but he’d always had that intimacy to wake up to, toes touching calves and hair tickling lips. He shuts his eyes, tries to conjure Louis up in his mind, tries to feel him there, another dip in the mattress, but he _can’t_ , and he doesn’t know why.

He’s just about to roll back over when he hears a soft knock on the door. His pulse jumps at that, even more so when Louis’s head peeks out from behind it, a ghost he’s conjured up in his head too many times to count.

“Harry?” he hears, soft. “Harry, are you awake?”

“Yeah,” he croaks, sitting up and turning on the bedside lamp. They both blink lazily at the light, at each other. “Everything okay?”

“Can I um – can we talk, maybe?”

“Oh.” Harry scoots over on the bed, opens up Louis’s side for him. “Sure.”

Louis opens the door fully now and slips inside, shutting it gently behind him, even though it’s just them. He sits down easily on his side of the bed, eyes wandering around the room, always wandering.

“You’re not a liar.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, I am though.”

“To me you’re not, then.” Louis fiddles with his pajama pants. “You’re right, you don’t have to tell me everything about yourself that I supposedly already knew before all of this.” He rolls his eyes. “This is just so fucked up, you know?”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers.

“But like, I thought we were friends?” He sounds nervous, like he could be wrong. “It’s just, you said we weren’t, anymore.”

Harry swallows loudly. “That’s not what I meant,” he says slowly. “I just meant that we aren’t friends the same way we were before. And that’s obvious, that’s not going to change. We can’t ever really get back there, I don’t think. I’m a different person now, and it’s like starting over new, you know? It’s like we’re meeting for the first time for me, too.”

Louis licks his lips, quiet. “Yeah.” He pauses. "You know, I don't care."    

"Don't care?"

"About you, being gay."

Harry has to close his eyes, doesn’t really know how to answer. “The situation is a lot more complicated than that.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” Harry sighs, “it just is.”

Louis shrugs. “It doesn’t have to be, you know. Kind of a shame to hide something that’s such a big part of you.”

“Been doing it this whole time.”

“Since x-factor?”

Harry nods slowly.

“That’s fucked up,” Louis says quietly. “You were so fucking young.”

“Had to learn one way or another, how the world worked.”

Louis turns to look at him then, eyes blazing. “No. The world is wrong, Harry, not you.”

Harry leans back against the headboard, hands fisted in the duvet, because this wasn’t the same person he’d met all those years ago, scared shitless to even _talk_ about it. He just showed it, relentlessly, loved Harry through it all but could never _say_ it. And now here he was, breathing out inspiration like it came naturally to him.

“Thanks,” Harry whispers. “Thank you.”

“All I know is that I’d be scared too, if it were me. But that’s what keeps you in the closet, you know? Not other people, but the fear.”

 _You’re the expert_ , Harry thinks, pulling the duvet tighter around him. He’s not entirely sure where this conversation is going, or if he wants to go where it’s headed, so he just slouches lower into the bed and reaches for the tv remote.

“Want to watch a film?”

Louis stares, so Harry doesn’t wait for an answer, just flicks it on to some random channel. _How to lose a guy in 10 days_ is playing, and he lets it lull him against the pillows. Louis gets comfortable after a while as well, head resting dangerously close to Harry’s shoulder. It feels like an itch he can’t scratch.

Louis falls asleep first, fringe casting shadows against his cheekbones, and so Harry reaches over and turns out the light. He lowers the volume on the tv before closing his eyes, sleep like a siren, and listens to the way Louis breathes against all the empty spaces of their room.

 


	15. Part fifteen

Everything is right. Everything fits, warmth and breath and limbs, and Harry sighs into it, fingers aching to hold it closer. His curls are matted to the cheek currently pressed against his pillow, smelling like summer and fruity shampoo and Louis. His lips part breathlessly, tasting it on his tongue, and he didn’t realize how much he missed it, how much he missed having Louis so close even when he wasn’t.

Harry shifts, trying to spread out, trying to gather as much of the bed in his arms as possible, but his body can’t move, not very much, and as he lays there quietly for a moment, he becomes acutely aware of the fact that there is a breathing body next to his, arm wrapped loosely around Harry’s torso.

His eyes fly open, widening like it would let him see through the dark, and just makes out the outline of Louis’s body next to his, curled up like usual, fingers wishful against the jut of Harry’s hip. His face is buried in fringe, mouth open in a soft snore, breath mixing into the pillow, and it makes Harry’s heart start, fire coiling along the lines of his legs.

He lets his breath sit there for a moment, curling against the sheets, across Louis’s cheeks, before moving back, as far as he can reach. Louis’s arm drops form around his waist, bouncing against the mattress, and he snuffles awake, eyelids droopy, lips droopy, all the sleepless parts of him alive. Harry tries to think of an excuse, tries to figure out how they could possibly laugh this off, because this probably wasn’t normal for him, waking up with another man, especially when in a relationship with a _woman_.

The first time Harry and Louis had slept in the same bed it was easy, sharing bunks in the x-factor, sleeping bags and floor dragged mattresses at the bungalow. They had liked it that way, had enjoyed each other’s warmth and adoration, fingertips light against skin, things they never talked about. But that was okay, always okay for Harry, because Louis let him hold him anyway.

“Where are you going?” Louis says groggily, voice low, cracking like it usually does when he’s between sleep and awake. It makes Harry see stars, pools along the bruises in his chest.

Harry feels like he’s losing breath, thinks for a moment he might be having another asthma attack, before inhaling sharply and all at once, body frozen against the cold side of the bed. He watches as Louis smiles at him lazily, raising his arm up and motioning for Harry to come forward.

“Come on. Come back.”

He’s confused. He must be confused. He must think there’s someone else in his bed, someone else spreading his warmth.

“Harry,” Louis sighs, “come on, stop being weird babe.”

He definitely can’t breathe now, needs to be closer to Louis, needs to let him push air into his lungs. His fingertips reach out and grab onto Louis’, toes curling as Louis entwines them together, pulling Harry forward and back into his arms. He falls there naturally, all the lines of his body fitting in with all the lines of Louis’, and he thinks briefly that this might be a dream, that he must have hit rock bottom.

But Louis feels so real beside him, beneath him, around every inch of him, suffocating him like an asthma he can’t breathe away. He’s blinking at Harry, nose brushing against the dip of his cheek, and the heat spreads, prickling against the back of his neck like a flame he can’t put out.

Louis must be able to tell something is wrong, because his eyebrows have suddenly furrowed, thumb brushing over the back of Harry’s hand. “What is it Haz, are you alright?” He presses a quick, simple kiss to the corner of his mouth, something they’d done all the time, all the _time_ , and yet it still snatches the light right from Harry’s eyes, makes his jaw rigid.

“Harry, you’re kind of scaring me.”

“Louis,” Harry tries, shakily, because he must be confused.

“Yeah, love?” Louis’s fingers sweep up to brush the curls from his eyelashes, his eyes like all sorts of oceans.

Harry closes his eyes, thinks he could make this real. “What do you think we’ll be like when we’re older?”

Louis hums, breath dancing across Harry’s face. “Well, you’ll still have your curls of course, don’t think those will ever disappear with old age.” He lets out a soft laugh, tickling the quiet air around them. “I can see you as a chef, definitely a chef.”

Harry lets himself rest in those words, in this moment. He’s not entirely sure of it, that it isn’t just some sort of dreaming, brought on by the image of Louis fast asleep next to him in their master bed after weeks of empty sheets.

“I think we’ll have a family too, maybe. I’d like that. I’d like a family with you.”

It’s beautiful, the way those words are so easily said, washing over Harry in waves and quakes, and he finds his lips trembling against their shared pillow, eyes open and staring deep into something he wishes he could recognize.

“Lou,” Harry whispers. “I missed you.”

The corner of Louis’s lips twitch up into an amused stare, eyes bright and endless in the moonlight. “What are you on about?”

“I miss you all the time,” Harry says, noses pressing.

This is too real, so real.

“You trying to seduce me?”

Harry lets out a watery laugh, reassured by the tilt of Louis’s eyes, by the gentle brush of his thumb. “No, you idiot.”

“Where’s all this coming from?”

“Just love you, is all,” Harry says softly.

Louis tilts his chin up, lips connecting with Harry’s in a closed mouth kiss, and it’s the first time they’ve kissed in a long time, like lightening. Harry jolts into it, opening his mouth for Louis, breath like thunder, and listens to the way Louis breathes back, straight into his throat, pushing his lungs open.

“God curly,” he groans against Harry’s lips, “god, I love you.”

Harry opens his eyes, wants to memorize the curve of Louis’s nose, wants to memorize the way his eyelashes fan away.

“Why do you do this to me? It’s arse-o’clock in the morning, and you just – “ Louis pulls away, eyes open to catch Harry in his stare. “You’re so bloody weird.”

Harry smiles, watches as Louis comes to poke at his dimple. “Glad you woke up for it, anyway.”

Louis’s finger brushes down his cheek, eyes weak as they flit between Harry’s. “I’m always glad to wake up for you.”

The rest of his fingers come to join, hand cupping the curve of Harry’s jaw, pulling him closer, breathing him in. Harry closes his eyes again, lets his now free hand rest underneath Louis’s shirt, skin warm against his touch. He can practically taste it.

“How many kids do you want?”

Louis’s laugh is a whisper. “However many you want.”

“That’s not an answer,” Harry pouts, pointer finger dancing against Louis’s bottom lip. “Come on, you must have some sort of idea.”

Louis looks away, pretends to be put off even though Harry knows he likes it. “Maybe three.”

“ _Maybe_ three?”

Louis rolls his eyes, tightening his hold around Harry. “Okay, five, ten, one hundred kids. I want one hundred kids, all with you, as long as they’re with you, alright?”

Harry laughs, loud in the darkness. “Okay, okay.”

“Always with you,” Louis finishes, whisper heavy, and his fingers come down to trace the spot where he knows Harry’s ship tattoo lies, naked against the skin of his arm. 

“ _Home is wherever I’m with you_ ,” Harry hums quietly, smiling against Louis’s laugh.

“God you are such an idiot, I’m in love with an idiot.”

Harry reaches down, traces the spot he knows Louis’s compass is tattooed, a piece of Harry etched into the ink. “Find me when you’re lost.”

Louis kisses the space between his eyebrows. “I always do.”

 

~

 

 

Everything is wrong. Harry opens his eyes to empty sheets, empty arms, empty breath. The mattress is still warm on Louis’s side, a sign that he didn’t leave too long ago, but it’s the fact that he’s left that shakes Harry open, makes him remember last night, wishes he could have stayed awake longer for it.

He can hear the television on in the living room, can smell fresh brewed tea, and he wonders briefly if Louis awoke covered in Harry’s arms, wonders if he found a way to explain the newly formed bruises against his skin. Harry rolls over on to his back, fingers coming up to trace the ink of his ship, sighing at the ceiling.

He reaches for his phone, plugged in to the wall, and dials the only person he can think might be able to explain what had happened, if at all. It rings twice before she picks up, morning voice too chipper.

“Harry, love, how are you?”

He doesn’t speak for a moment, just breathes. “I’m not entirely sure, to be honest.”

“Is everything alright? Anything the matter with Louis?”

“Yes, no.” He rubs a hand down his face. “I’m not sure.”

He can hear Jay murmur something to someone, and he wonders if it’s one of Louis’s sisters; which one it might be. He tries to say hi, hello, but the words get caught in his throat.

“Talk to me, Harry.”

“He remembered,” he blurts out, chest heaving. “He remembered me, last night, or sometime this morning, I’m not entirely sure.”

Jay’s breath hitches on the other end, and Harry wishes she were here. “What do you mean he remembered - ?”

“He knew who I was, what we were. We talked about the future, he _kissed_ me, Jay.” He outwardly groans, fingers tugging at his bottom lip to stop it from shaking. “It was like there had been no accident at all.”

“Oh Harry,” she sighs, and he can imagine her sitting at their table, fingers brushing through her hair, listening in on Harry’s secrets while the rest of the world turned on around her. “Sometimes that happens. The doctor warned me, I didn’t think much of it; it’s _rare_. But sometimes our brains get confused, about what they remember and what they don’t. Sometimes they conjure up things they thought they may have lost, when their senses get overwhelmed with triggers.”

Harry closes his eyes against her words. “Will it happen again?”

“I don’t know,” she says softly. “The fact that it happened at all is good, maybe. It means his memory isn’t as damaged as we thought it was.”

“So he could remember.”

“Harry – “

“Please,” he whispers, lips trembling, fingers trembling, “please Jay, I miss him.”

She breathes quietly over the phone, tired. “I know you do baby. I do too.”

“Will he come back? Do you think he’ll come back?”

“ _Harry_ ,” Jay sighs, “he’s here already, right in front of you.”

Harry releases a loud breath, feels like exhaling every piece of last night.

“He’s awake, he’s alive, he’s okay. Just be patient okay? Be patient for him.”

He’s taken back to the day Louis woke up, Jay’s voice loud in his ears. _Be patient for my boy_. He lets his fingers dig in to his thighs, listening to the way Louis moves outside his closed door. “Always.”

“Good,” she says, like she didn’t expect anything different. “I love you, okay? The girls say hi.”

Harry smiles, warm. “Tell them hi back, I love them.”

“You should come visit soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They hang up after that, and Harry forces himself to get out of bed. They’ve had a pretty empty schedule these past few weeks, what with Louis’s accident, and he’s not entirely sure when they plan on jump starting it again. They’re due for their stadium tour in a few months, and they’d had a short break off rehearsals for Harry’s birthday. But he hasn’t been practicing, hasn’t been in to the studio, and he wonders if the other boy’s have been carrying on, doing just that, covering for Louis and Harry like they need all the time in the world.

He loves them, he really, really does.

The hallway light is too bright as he opens his door, scratching at his stomach as he makes his way towards the kitchen. He hears Louis laughing from the couch, lets it wrap around him, and makes some tea for himself. He watches the black spread against the bottom of the water, like smoke inside a jar, and waits for it to reach the top.

“Sleep well?”

Harry nods, looking up to find Louis. “Yeah, did you?”

Louis smiles, blinding. “Your bed is comfier than mine, curly.”

 _Curly_.

Harry lets the word consume him. “I know. Feel free to crash there any time you’d like.”

“What a charmer,” he laughs, before pouring himself a second cup of tea. “Are you doing okay today? You know.” He gestures at his chest. “Because of yesterday and all.”

“Oh.” Harry clears his throat and nods jerkily, eyes back on his tea. “Yeah, thanks.”

Louis nods back before pushing the fridge door open, reaching for the milk. Harry closes his eyes tightly, bottom lip pulled tightly between his teeth.

“How’d you know where my inhaler was?”

He can almost feel Louis shrug, like it’s imprinted in the way words fall from his lips. “I don’t know.” His spoon clinks against the side of his mug. “I just did, I guess.”

Harry shakes his head, fingers blistered with touches. “You didn’t even know I had asthma.”

Louis doesn’t say anything for a minute, spoon clinking against ceramic. “But, I did.”

“How?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” he groans, and Harry looks over at him. “Okay? It was just there, like oh, here’s some information about Harry he’s told me.”

“I never told you.”

“You told me during x-factor.”

Harry watches him carefully, waits for him to catch on. He doesn’t. So instead he grabs the milk and sugar and pours them proportionately into his tea. He’s fucked, so fucked. Last night was terrible, an aching pulse in his ears, and now Louis remembered pieces of him he wasn’t supposed to, pieces that didn’t add up. And he didn’t even _realize_.

“Yeah, I s’pose I did.”

There’s a soft knock on the door, saving Louis from any sort of response, and he quickly goes to open the door. Harry listens to him greet whoever is currently standing on their threshold, before coming back into the kitchen with a smile so bright it could ignite fires, could fight wars, could bring peace.

Zayn comes in behind him, hair slightly tousled, and he gives a knowing smile to Harry.

“Zayn and I are going out today. Figured it would do me some good to get out, you know?”

“Sure,” Harry says. But he doesn’t feel that way, feels angry instead, because it should be him taking Louis out, should be him showing Louis all the parts of the world he missed. He doesn’t mean to be angry at Zayn, it isn’t his fault. But today has been full of things like that, really. He hasn’t even had his tea.

Louis nods in recognition before tugging Zayn out the door with him, scent lingering in the kitchen, newly poured tea steaming against the countertop.

Harry is fucked, so fucked.

 


	16. Part sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is not a very exceptional chapter, but I wanted to get one in before I moved to Canada on Thursday. I should have my next chapter in before my classes start, however!

“So Harry, can you explain to us this picture of Andy outside your flat?”

Harry’s not really all there, eyes set on a piece of fuzz eating away at the couch cushion beside him. He feels tired, thinks that he could probably fall asleep if he closes his eyes, but Zayn’s fingers are pressing lazy puzzles against the back of his neck, tugging at curls, and so he tries to focus his attention back on the interview with difficulty.

He’d originally wanted to do the interview alone, thought it’d be best to keep the other boys out of this, but Zayn had just given him a look, Niall’s arm strong around his shoulder, and Liam had promptly said, “Harry, you’re an idiot if you think we aren’t going to support you in this.”

Tesla made things much easier, surprisingly. She hadn’t said a thing when he’d told her his decision, had just nodded and made a phone call to the magazine. He hadn’t wanted to call a press conference, something management had suggested, because this wasn’t huge, this wasn’t a _thing_. It was just a piece of him, didn’t need to have cameras called in for it, so he’d just taken the first interview with the first magazine to call.

“Don’t worry about what you’ll have to answer,” she’d told him as he sat in his makeup chair, Lou tousling his curls. “I’ve already given them the guidelines. Under no circumstances will they ask you to state your sexuality, nor incite any gay sexual innuendos if you do happen to say something. And they will absolutely not, _not_ , ask you about Larry Stylinson.”

“Thank you,” he’d breathed out, long and heavy. “Thank you.”

Andy had stuck around, with the reassurance from Harry that it was okay. She had made it clear that she cared about what happened with him, about what happened with Louis. She was willing to go through hellfire for that, willing to step into the spotlight for the ridicule so that maybe less of it would be focused on Harry.

“Harry?”

His eyes snap up, a blurry reflection of the interviewer sitting against the back of his head, and he clears his throat awkwardly. “Sorry, can you repeat the question?”

“Can you explain this picture of Andy outside your flat?”

“Don’t know really what there is to explain,” he says slowly. “We obviously knew each other before my birthday party.”

“Was the party bit just for publicity? Did you two really know each other back in Cheshire?”

Harry shakes his head, lets Zayn’s fingers calm him. “No. I met her the day that picture was taken.”

“I see,” the interviewer hums, pointer finger coming up to push his glasses back up his nose. “So, why is it you dove into a fake relationship with this girl?”

Harry is slightly put off by the bluntness of the question, but answers it all the same. “Because I hadn’t had a girlfriend in a while.”

“And why’s it you needed a girlfriend, Harry?”

The questions are obviously leading somewhere, leading down to one inevitable answer, and it makes his chest hurt just thinking about it. The interviewer is looking at him with raised eyebrows, body bent forward like he’s ready for it, ready for Harry to say it, to show it.

“I’m in a market,” he shrugs, “for teen girls. So I’d need a girlfriend, obviously.”

“Don’t you think then, that you’d have no trouble finding a real one?”

Harry closes his eyes, tries to blink awake. He feels like he’s in an interrogation, and none of the boys are diminishing from that fact, eyes set on whatever part of him they can look at, open, wide, _there_. It feels suffocating, and he really wishes he’d brought his inhaler with him.

“Maybe it’s not a girlfriend I want,” he mumbles, rubbing at his temple.

“Oh,” the interviewer starts, obviously trying to hide the twitch of his lips. “What is it you want then?”

Harry feels warmth coat the shiver running against his spine, realizes too late the warmth is connected to a hand, and looks over at Louis just as the interviewer says, “ _oh_ ,” again.

He wants to scream, wants to let the breath rush out of him this time, wants to feel the emptiness burn in his chest, because Louis can’t just _touch him_ like that, in the middle of an interview about his bloody sexuality, can’t just offer him comfort in the form of hands and looks and _I won’t let anybody hurt you_ because they’re on camera for Christ’s sake.

Louis must notice, blinks away the rejection, hand settling back into his lap, and the interviewer is looking between them with his lips pressed so thin they’re practically non-existent.

“Do you have someone, Harry? Someone that you love, someone that maybe the public doesn’t know about?”

Harry licks his lips, burnt with the outline of Louis’, and exhales hard. “Yes.”

The interviewer looks surprised he answered. “And I take it Andy was there to make sure the public wouldn’t find out?”

“Yes.”

“And why, may I ask, was there a cover up in the first place?”

Harry swallows hard, leans back into Zayn’s hand. “I’m in a market for teen girls,” he repeats slowly, hoping they’ll get the message, hoping that he won’t have to say _I’m gay_ on national television because that’s not what’s important, not right now. And it’s not like it _matters_ , but it’s all a bit overwhelming, having spent three years telling himself that it was _their_ secret, a piece of _them_ , and now it was all about him, about _him_ , and Harry feels like he’s choking. “So it’s important I have a girlfriend.”

“I’m not quite sure I understand.”

God, what did this guy expect, Harry to do some sort of jig, some sort of homosexual mating ritual that somehow proved him to be gay to the general public? Did he need some sort of flashing neon sign hung over his head, reading I’M GAY and pointing straight down into his mess of curls for clarification?

“Then you’re an idiot,” Louis says under his breath, mouth turned away from his microphone. Harry hears it though, and judging from the look on the interviewers face, him too. Niall snickers, obviously, and Liam gives him a swift kick to the shin, mumbling under his breath about “giving the wrong message” and Harry wants to laugh too, wants to look at Louis.

“Right,” the interviewer sighs. “I think that’s all I have for today. Thank you very much, boys.”

“Thank you,” they all say apart, and gradually lift up from their chairs, cameras switching off. Harry can’t look at Louis, doesn’t know what his eyes would say if they met, and so he maneuvers himself beside Niall, lets Louis get pushed to the front of the group.

“You doin’ okay?” Niall asks.

“Not really,” Harry replies, lungs shaky. “Kind of wish I was dead right now, to be honest.”

“No depressed talk,” Liam says from in front of him, turning back to give him a look. “You did great, I thought that interview went great.”

“Of course you did,” Harry says shortly, “those interviews always are with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“ _Hey_ ,” Zayn cuts in from next to Louis, “shut up, all of you. Don’t be twats.”

“Sorry,” Harry whispers, “sorry, fuck.”

Liam sighs and matches their strides, fingers curling around the back of Harry’s neck. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

“Thanks, dad.”

“Hey.” Liam stops them, letting Niall pass by to catch up with Zayn and Louis. “What’s gotten in to you?”

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry breathes, and yeah, he really wishes he had brought his inhaler with him. “He openly touched me, Liam, _touched me_ , in an interview. It wasn’t secretive or slight or, or – "

“He doesn’t _know_ , Haz.”

“But that’s the point, Liam.” Harry knots his fingers in with the knots of his hair. “He should, shouldn’t he? Even when we weren’t defined, weren’t together, he knew. He knew it wasn’t supposed to be public, wasn’t supposed to be shown on camera.”

Liam looks away for a moment, eyebrows cross, before meeting Harry’s eyes. “Things are different now. You’ve got to keep up with the person he is now. Stop comparing him to the Louis you knew before the accident, because that person out there _isn’t him_.”

“I know!” Fuck, fuck Harry _knew_. “I just don’t know how to forget about him.”

“Shit, Zayn was right.” Liam squeezes his shoulder. “You need to get out, get away from him for a bit. How about you come stay with me when you want, okay? Maybe start with the next couple of days.”

Harry nods, rubbing at his scalp. “Okay. Thank you, really. Thanks.”

“I’m here for you, we’re all here for you, okay?” He presses a quick kiss to Harry’s temple before pushing him away. “Now come on, let’s go back home okay?”

Harry nods, lungs like a fire, and follows him back to the van.

 

~

 

He can’t stop looking at it, at the way his life looks different without the same Louis who’d changed it. Harry’s palms are imprinted with it, etched from the kitchen counter, from bathroom tiles, from bedsprings and phantom limbs. It burns against his skin, more powerful than any touch, and buries itself somewhere deep in his chest, a place that aches in the hours he spends staring at the ceiling, clouded over in darkness.

Harry gets it, he _gets it_ , maybe. He’s not trying to ignore the Louis in front of him, not trying to get rid of him. He’s just not sure how to get to know him all over again. There are too many similarities, too many small pieces that fit together until it’s hard to pick out the parts he has to get to know, the secrets he never got to know.

“Hey.”

Harry looks up from where he’s been staring at the bathroom sink, eyes burning, hands burning. Louis is standing at the door, bare toes curled into the carpet of Harry’s room, and he belongs there so much it aches.

“You okay?” His fringe is down, hair product rinsed out, and it curls into the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been calling your name for like five minutes.”

“Oh.” Harry shakes his head, blinking. “Yeah I’m fine, sorry about that. What’s up?”

Louis shrugs, fingers playing with the drawstrings of his joggers. “Wanted to know if you’d like to play a round of FIFA? Loser pays for takeout.”

Harry cracks a smile. “Lou, I’m literal shit at FIFA. There’s no competition there, I’ll end up buying takeout, hands down.”

Louis smiles back. “Well then I suppose it’s a win-win for me.”

“You’re a menace, you know that?”

He rolls his eyes, backing up, feet soft against the floor. “Come on already, prove yourself wrong.”

Harry could never resist Louis, not really. He finds himself sighing heavily, giving in to the smirk lingering on the corners of his lips, and follows Louis into the living room, the game already set up. He sits down in the middle, knowing Louis likes his room, will take up practically half the couch with his animations.

But he just sits himself right next to Harry, knees pressed together, and starts the game.

Louis scores within the first minute. “Hm,” he laughs, “I’m kind of feeling in the mood for some Thai.”

Harry scoffs, bumping his knee. “As if. _When_ I win, I’ll be expecting Chinese.”

He watches from the corner of his eye as a small smile curls against Louis’ lips, pressed together against the look in his eyes. “We’ll see, Styles.”

Harry tries to ignore it, at the way Louis seems so controlled, legs twitching with every solid pass, but _pressing_ , digging deep into Harry’s thighs, and their elbows keep touching, something soft and light. And he really wants to focus on the game, knows he has no chance – though that never really stopped him from trying – but Louis’s body is insistent, whether his mind is or not.

He manages to catch a free ball from Louis and makes a shoddy pass to one of his forwards. He’s surprised Louis didn’t spring for it; it was messy and went right around one of his defenders; he’d usually be all over it. But instead Harry has his man with the ball and he’s on a break away and when he presses the button to initiate a kick, the goalie dives for the wrong side and the ball soars into the upper left corner of the goal.

“Damn,” Louis mutters, elbow nudging.

Harry is. Harry is very, very confused. “Did I just - ?”

“Yeah, solid work.”

No. Just, _no_. “Solid work? That was shit, that whole maneuver was shit.”

“Well it got you a goal didn’t it?”

Harry turns to look at him, at the crease between his eyebrows and shadows of his eyelashes and thinks, _you let me score_.

No matter how much they got on, not matter how good of mates they were, no matter how romantically or sexually inclined Louis was with him, he never, _never_ , let Harry score. That’s why they rarely played together, and why Harry preferred cheering him on instead, because if they were against each other it was chaotic. Together they played well, somehow, but that was a different story because Louis just let Harry _score_.

“C’mon curly, your men are dead.”

Harry clears his throat with practiced ease before getting back into the game.

 

~

 

Louis wins of course, in a blaze of hoots and hollers and touching, touching, always touching. He digs his shoulder into Harry’s, a smile glowing against his lips as he says, “I suppose you were right,” and then picks himself up to order the takeout.

Harry tries not to overthink this, because it doesn’t have to mean _anything_. Louis is just different, he feels different, he’s meeting Harry at a different time in his life, so he does different things. It’s completely understandable, _logical_ , even. It’s just that he didn't think this entire situation through thoroughly, he supposes, because these are pieces Harry didn’t even know after four years, couldn’t uncover.

He wonders if he went wrong somewhere, if he loved too much, didn’t love enough, or if it was something else that made Louis this way, something he got to skip over because of his brain damage. Harry closes his eyes and brushes his fingers through his curls, a soft sigh escaping the part of his lips. Maybe it was their inevitable rise to fame that did it, that pushed him so hard that even all of the love in the world that Harry gave him wasn’t enough to suppress the hatred for who he was, for who they were together, so much they hid it for four years.

So much that he proposed to his fake girlfriend, believed there would never be an out.

A soft shiver runs across his scalp as he feels soft lips brush against the back of his neck, startling his eyes open. The lips move up until they find his cheek, gentle and wet, before pulling away to nuzzle in his hair.

“You smell like French toast. How is it you always smell like breakfast foods?”

Harry’s laughter is too breathy. “Must be because of your stupid want for them every morning.”

“Oh I see,” Louis laughs, kissing his temple before moving around to settle against him on the couch, tea in his hand. He presses it into Harry’s hands before wrapping his own into the curls at the nape of his neck. “This is all _my_ fault is it?”

“Isn’t it always?”

“Mm,” Louis hums, lips prying at the corner of Harry’s mouth. “Suppose I’ve been bad, haven’t I?”

Harry closes his eyes against his heavy exhale. “Fuck, Lou.”

“Yeah?” Louis straightens up only to straddle across his waist, hips pressing purposefully. His nose nudges against the dimple in Harry’s cheek, lips beautiful against his chin. “You gonna kiss me, or what?”

Harry wants to grab hold of this, wants to take everything he possibly can from this moment. He’ll be gone in a minute though, probably, and Harry really isn’t in the mood to be caught in a provocative position when Louis came to.

Harry kisses him anyway, soft and slow, arms wrapping tightly around his back, and pulls their chests flush together, breath exchanged like words between their lips. “I love you.”

“You’re an idiot,” Louis smiles against him, before pulling away, fingers tickling the skin of his shoulders. “But I guess you’re mine, so.”

“ _So_ ,” Harry mocks, kissing him one more time, twice more, and then resting against the back of the couch.

Louis sighs, eyes set against Harry’s lips, before leaning away and standing up. “Forgot my tea in the kitchen in all my excited glory to give you your cuppa.”

Harry snorts and waves him along. “Don’t keep me waiting, you fiend.”

“Never,” Louis winks, before strolling off into the other room.

Harry lets his composure fall at his departure, because he’s not coming back, he knows it. He can feel it, felt it as soon as he stood up to go get his tea. Louis would have brought his own cuppa with him anyways, not left it in the kitchen to get cold.

There’s a knock at the door, so Harry gets up to go answer. It’s the delivery man, takeout in hand, and Harry pays him before shutting the door and heading into the kitchen. Louis is standing there, near the sink, eyebrows furrowed and fists clenched.

“Are you okay?”

He jerks at Harry’s voice, eyes wandering to his face, before nodding. “Yeah I’ve just, seemed to forgotten what I was doing.”

Harry swallows thickly and sets the takeout on the counter. “Well, foods here. What’d you get?”

Louis smiles wide then, a shrug blooming against his shoulders. “Chinese. Got your favorites.” He nods towards the bag.

“What?”

“Yeah.” Louis moves closer, fingers prying open the plastic. “Orange chicken with the sesame spice on the side, 'cause sometimes you get sick of the sweet. And then some white rice, and beef with broccoli.” He rolls his eyes with a laugh. “And just because it’s got broccoli in it doesn’t make it _healthy_ , Harold.”

Harry’s trying to keep his pulse under control, trying to pry his eyes away from Louis’s face because honestly what the _fuck_ , but his whole body is a mess right now. He thinks about asking Louis how it’s possible he even knows what Harry’s favorites are, that _specifically_ , but he figures he’d just get another vague, annoyed answer, and he’d rather keep Louis like this.

“You’re right,” he sighs. “I like to think it is though.”

“You’re an idiot,” Louis laughs, and it’s almost too much, how it feels like there are too different Louis’s in his life. “But you’re mine, so.”

Harry’s breath hitches and he feels like throwing up or passing out or snogging Louis senseless. Instead he just opens the tableware drawer and takes out some forks and a couple of serving spoons.

“So,” he starts, voice breaking, “why’d you get Chinese?”

Louis shrugs. “Was in the mood for it more than I thought, I guess.” The smirk on the corners of his mouth says otherwise, however, and as Louis grabs the plates down from the cabinet, Harry thinks maybe he is way over his head.

 


	17. Part seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, talk about finally. sorry about the delay in updating, things have been a bit chaotic lately. I hope it makes up for the lateness (and my previously shitty chapters), enjoy!

“What about this one?”

Harry looks over to where Zayn is standing, fingers curled tightly around ash white fur, holding safely onto a small head with dirty eyes and a tail that wraps around mischief. He looks restless, like if Harry says no again he’ll throw the cat out the window with a sort of _I give up_ look to his shoulders.

Harry doesn’t want to say no, but he does anyway. Zayn sighs into the collar of his coat, kneeling down to set the kitten back on the ground. Its paws tear across the flooring, mind completely elsewhere, like he doesn’t miss a home, and Harry wonders if he’d care if he knew what a home felt like.

Sitting here, thighs to his chest, fingernails tight in the knees of his pants, Harry feels lost. He can feel the pull, the imaginary tug laced deep within his skin somewhere between the sails of his tattoo, and he longs for it, longs for _find me_ , for _I’m here_ , for _I’ll wait for you_. He wonders if Louis can feel it back sometimes, if he understands the bond between their bones, if he feels it while he lies awake at night with an empty body and no explanation why.

“Harry, you’ve got to pick one sometime. We’ve been here for over an hour.”

Harry nods, because he knows, but he doesn’t answer because he doesn’t want to leave quite yet. Zayn makes his way over, seating himself on the ground where Harry has decided to bunch up, and rests his head back against the wall.

“This is unhealthy, you know.”

“He said we could get a cat, so here I am, getting a cat.”

“I’d like to see how new Louis approves of this, then.”

Harry scrunches his nose delicately, eyes trained on his fingers, picking away threads from the holes not yet patched beneath his knees. “Don’t say that, that’s not a thing.”

“What’s not?”

“ _New Louis_.” Harry swallows thickly. “It’s not like he’s changed or anything.”

Zayn snorts. “You make no fucking sense, man.”

Harry’s brows furrow. “I do.” He spreads his fingers out, like a web. “You know, he’s still the same person Zayn. He’s always going to be just _Louis_. There’s just a difference in experience is all. His secrets and personality traits are just more hidden than they used to be.”

He feels Zayn looking at him, and it makes his ears hot.

“He’s _shy_.”

“Are we talking about the same person here?”

Harry just shakes his head, rests his temple on the space between his knees, hopes maybe it’ll cover all the other spaces in between. “Never mind.”

“You’ve been talking to Liam, haven’t you?”

Harry closes his eyes and breathes in the dampness of the room, the dust frozen by sunlight. “Can we please stop talking about this?”

“Alright, alright.” Zayn sighs again.

Harry focuses on the sounds around him, buried deep within carpeted floors and crying kittens. It’s addicting, the way it all comes together behind his closed eyes, and he wishes he could stay here for a while, get lost in the hours, days, years.

“You know, we’ve got the MTV awards coming up in a couple of weeks.”

Harry’s chest tightens and he feels almost sick, the words unsettling in his throat. Had it really been that long already? “So?”

“ _So_ ,” Zayn answers, “we’ve got to get ready for our performance. We need you both at rehearsals, alright? We don’t work the same without you guys.”

“Shit,” he breathes, “I’m sorry. It’s been so long, I’ve been so out of it – “

“Don’t start that,” Zayn murmurs, fingers light against Harry’s hair. “Don’t you dare.”

Harry lets himself lean into it, lets himself have this. “I’m out of practice, I know. Everything feels out of practice.”

“You just lost three years of your life,” Zayn answers slowly, like an excuse.

 _Entire life_ , Harry wants to correct. He lost his entire life. And that’s what it is really, because in sense of time it’s only been three years, but he thinks that once its gotten to the point where you can’t remember what it felt like to sleep without the indents of another person, what it felt like to breathe alone, then it’s everything 

Harry sees Louis in everything, even in the parts of him where he didn’t used to exist. Sometimes Harry gets overwhelmed by it all, how much he feels consumed by this one feeling, this one person, this one moment that’s taken over all other moments. He hates that he can’t get rid of it, can’t breathe through the tightness in his chest, can’t sleep through restless limbs, can’t make his mind and body and pulse shut up.

He wonders maybe if it’s because they can’t remember what they did before, can’t remember their rhythm without Louis’.

A slight tap on his hand brings his gaze back into his focus, and he looks down to see a small kitten batting at his fingers, eyes the color of seawater. He reaches out to stroke its fur, and it flumps onto its side, feet wrapping around his wrist and bringing his pointer finger straight into its mouth.

Harry smiles and picks it up, tucks it against the crook of his elbow. The kitten seems to calm down at this, licking at his finger instead, its grip relaxing.

“Good,” Zayn sighs, “thank god. Can we go home now?”

 

~

 

Daisy, as Harry has decided to name her, has a bit more trouble adjusting to their flat than he thought she would. She seems okay wandering around, but she mostly stays close to Harry, and since arriving back at the flat thirty minutes ago, she’s already had two accidents.

He tries to coax her into playing with one of the toys, or exploring the new cat tree he’d bought her, but she just stares up at him and meows until he sits down and lets her climb onto his shoulders, licking and pulling at his curls.

He’s trying very carefully to keep her balanced there while unwrapping her plastic food and water bowls when Louis walks in, hair ruffled and cheeks red. As soon as he shuts the door and toes off his shoes, his nose wrinkles.

“What on earth is that smell?”

Harry looks at him sheepishly, shrugging and immediately feeling claws in his back. “That’d be Daisy, sorry. She’s had a couple of accidents. I’m trying to teach her though, you know, so don’t worry. And I’ll get the carpets cleaned and whatnot, so the smell doesn’t engulf the whole flat.”

Louis stares at him silently for a moment before asking, “who’s Daisy?”

As if on cue, Daisy lets out a pathetic excuse for a meow, and Harry laughs, pointing lazily at where she’s peeking out from his mess of hair. The shock written on Louis’s face is sudden, and Harry lets his laughter die off a bit, turning back to unwrapping the food bowl.

“You got a cat?”

“Well technically she’s a kitten.”

“You brought a living, breathing animal into this flat without telling me first?”

Harry perks an eyebrow cautiously. “Is that a problem?”

“It is if she keeps peeing on my floor.”

Laughter rips through Harry in a snort, and he nearly throws Daisy off balance when he throws his head back. “Oh come on Lou, just come over and say hello. She’s very friendly.”

He seems very stubborn on the idea of just standing there and fuming instead, so Harry shrugs and goes back to the task at hand. The plastic is impossible though to get off, with the way they’ve wrapped it, and finally Louis sighs dramatically from his place on the threshold before making his way over, mumbling, “you’re like a _child_ , Haz, really,” as he takes the packaging into his own hands.

“Thanks,” he murmurs when Louis manages to open them in one motion. “I’m obviously too daft for modern packaging.”

A small smile twitches at the ends of Louis’s lips as he sets the unwrapped bowls on the coffee table. “The people who make this shit ask for it anyway.”

“I s’pose,” Harry grins, and it widens when Louis reaches out to poke at the dimple indented in his left cheek.

“So, where’s this menace of a cat I’m supposed to like?”

Harry reaches his arm behind him to pick her up carefully, wincing as she tries to pull on his hair to stay balanced, and sets her in his lap. “She’s a bit shy, so don’t like, freak out or anything.”

“Is she gonna take a piss again?”

“ _No_ , Louis, just – “ Harry picks her up and holds her out to him. “Hold her for a bit, yeah? I’m gonna start on dinner.”

“Dinner? That sounds nice.”

“Yeah,” Harry says as Louis takes Daisy from him. “I thought it’d be nice you know, before we have to start going back to late night take out.”

“What do you mean?” Daisy nestles into his coat, licking at the faux wool on the inside. His thumb rubs absentmindedly at her back, eyes set on Harry.

Harry stands up, heading towards the kitchen. “The MTV awards are coming up next week, and then we’ve got the tour, which was delayed and all. And we’ve been out of practice, you and I, because of the accident. So starting tomorrow we’ve got to head back into rehearsals.”

“Shit,” Louis breathes as he follows, “I completely forgot we were in an actual famous boyband that you know, sang and stuff.”

Harry laughs, grabbing the cutting board from behind the knife block. “It’s okay, sometimes I forget too.” He watches as Louis props himself up on the counter, nose nuzzling at Daisy’s ears. “You’ve been gone a lot these past few weeks. Re-establishing yourself with Eleanor?” He looks away at the question, busies himself with washing his hands and taking out the needed vegetables from the fridge.

“Eleanor? No,” Louis says with an airy tone, “we ended it a while back.”

Harry had been trying his hardest to stay away from the tabloids. He ignored notifications on twitter, ignored the media, and had in all honesty, kept himself busy indoors while everything else seemed to be erupting in chaos. He wouldn’t have had a chance to see the split, wouldn’t have had a chance to be cornered by paps, or asked about information. He’d thought Eleanor would have called him, though.

“You didn’t mention that.” He sticks the vegetables in a strainer and lets the cold water graze over the backs of his hands.

“There was no need to. Things weren’t the same, we couldn’t patch anything up, it didn’t feel real to me anymore.”

Harry closes his eyes and keeps his body turned away. “You guys were together a long time.”

“Harry.”

He looks then, regrets it terribly, because the way Louis is looking at him is the way he looked at him the second before their first kiss, lips slack and eyes blown, the second right before he’d said I love you for the first time, neck tight and full of clammy fingers, the second right before he’d said I’m _in_ love you, all the parts of you, every dimple and every crease.

 _Love me_ , he cries, _remember me_ , _I love you_ , _please love me back too_. But every part of him is silent, staring and silent, waiting, hands numb from the water.

Louis licks his lips and blinks slowly, eyebrows crossed, whole body slack with words Harry knows he’ll never say, and before he knows it Louis is looking away, down at Daisy, lips pursed.

“Please,” Harry murmurs, “for once would you just tell me what’s on your mind?”

Louis closes his eyes. “Just sometimes I think I remember things, but they’re _impossible_ , they’re – “ He cuts himself off, fingers strong around Daisy, holding her against his chest like a lifeline. She’s purring quite loudly, whiskers bent against the buttons of his coat. “I just know they can’t be memories. So then I think maybe they’re just thoughts that I’m having, and that scares me even more.”

“What is it you think you’re remembering?”

Louis’s cheeks go red. “I can’t tell you, you’d think I’m mental.”

“I already think you’re mental,” Harry grins, “so don’t need to worry there.”

Louis doesn’t say anything.

“Lou,” Harry sighs,  “I’m trying. I want to help you, I want to be there for you, but I can’t do anything if you won’t tell me.”

“You don’t have to,” Louis answers, “I tell Zayn.”

Harry sucks in a breath, body paralyzed, lungs heavy in his chest, because _oh_. He swallows painfully, looking back down at the vegetables, and turns off the water. His hands are shaking, and he tries to keep himself from throwing up in the sink while he towels them off.

“Is that okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” His voice is too stiff, he knows.

“Well it’s just, you’re the one who has sort of stayed behind with me, helped me along, and I know that we used to be such great mates – “

“We don’t have to be mates,” Harry interrupts, moving the vegetables back to the cutting board. “You don’t have to try to be mates with me again just because we were.”

Louis is silent for a moment, and Harry wishes he could summon up the courage to turn around and see his face. “Is that what you think?”

The intensity with which Harry cuts into the red pepper should have been answer enough. “Hard not to think that, Lou.”

“Well you’re wrong,” he says back, voice unwavering. “We are best mates. And I talk to Zayn because I can’t talk to you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“They’re about you,” Louis breathes. “The memories, or thoughts, whatever they are, they’re about you. So sorry I’m not exactly jumping up and down to share them.”

“Then don’t you think I could help, maybe? Help you distinguish between them?”

“That’s not the point Harry.”

Harry’s face feels hot, ears and neck hot. “I just want to understand.”

“I know.” He hears Louis jump down from his perch on the counter, and the sound of a little squeak from Daisy as the movement jostles her. “Call me when you’re finished with dinner.”

As soon as Louis leaves Harry puts down the knife and buries himself into the counter, fingers tight in his hair, nails deep enough to cut him, slice him open. He can feel his heart in his stomach, his stomach in his legs, his whole body misaligned, and he wonders if this is what happens when half of you leaves.

 

 

~

 

Harry feels like all he does nowadays is watch Louis from afar. He’s mocking the choreographer in the corner with Zayn, all shits and giggles, crinkles and toothy smiles, and Harry hates the jealousy that rips through him, burning white hot in his gut.

“You alright Haz? You look a bit out of it.”

“Fine,” Harry murmurs, tearing his gaze away to meet with Liam’s. “I’m just peachy.”

Liam’s got a troubled look on his face, but he just purses his lips and keeps quiet. The beginning of rehearsal goes pretty well considering, but Louis forgets his parts sometimes – he’d only just learned them the night before – and Harry keeps stepping on himself, getting in the way of everyone else. They call for a ten-minute break about an hour in, and Harry excuses himself to the loo.

His throat feels swollen, like when he needs to cry, but he mostly finds himself just wanting to punch something, and the toilet stall door is starting to look like a pretty good candidate. He tries to breathe, tries to calm the muscles in his arms, so he grabs the sink, squeezes till his fingers bruise.

He hears the door open, and a dark, musky scent fills the room. “You okay?” Zayn’s voice is nothing but concern.

“Piss off.”

“Hey, what the hell is your problem?”

“Just please,” Harry groans, “fuck off.”

“No, you’ve obviously got a problem with me, so out with it then.”

Harry pushes away, eyes wild, and he feels the muscles in his hands twitch into fists. “Just go back to Louis, yeah? You two seem real cozy with each other, showing him around town, talking to him about his goddamn _memories_.”

Zayn’s words push back. “Are you serious? Are you _jealous_?”

“Fuck you,” Harry spits, and his hands won’t sit still, so he shoves him.

Zayn looks surprised for a moment before he springs back, shoving Harry hard against the open stall. “No, _fuck you_ , Haz, you don’t understand anything do you?”

“Those are _mine_ ,” Harry cries out, and he hates it, how his teeth clatter together like that, how his tongue is sticking to the roof of his mouth, how his eyes burn, how pitiful he must sound. “Those are my memories too, Zayn, that’s not fair.”

Zayn runs his fingers through his fringe, shaking. “You want to know what he talks about? He talks about _you_ , Harry, about memories he thinks he has with _you_. He’s got a bloody crush on you, for gods sake.”

Harry slouches against the wall, chest heaving. “What?”

Zayn takes a deep breath, locks their gazes. “He asked me about Larry Stylinson the other day. Figure maybe you should be the one to tell him.”

“He could just google it,” Harry mumbles, and is interrupted when Zayn shakes his head, eyes dropping to the floor.

“That’s not what he asked, Haz.”

Harry stares up at the ceiling, tries to count the tiles, tries to breathe. “And what exactly am I supposed to tell him, Zayn?”

“Stop it,” he says loudly, the words echoing against the walls. “Stop being such a coward.”

The silence that rings after that is heavy, suffocating. It’s interrupted shortly though, when the door is thrown open to Louis’s laughter and a quick, “hey Zayn you wouldn’t believe what – “

Louis’s words fall when he catches sight of Harry, and he quickly clears his throat, glancing between the two of them. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. Ehm, we’re starting back up again in a minute, so.” He pauses, foot in the door. “So, Harry, I invited the other boys over after? They want to meet Daisy. I figured we could just order in take out and play some FIFA?”

Harry nods quickly, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Yeah, of course, that sounds fun.”

Louis’s smile is hesitant before he leaves, just as quickly as he came. Harry’s not sure what to make of it, what to make of him.

“You’re an idiot,” Zayn sighs, and Harry’s never agreed with him more.

 


	18. Part eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> figured it was about time. sorry if this sucks <3

Harry wakes up the morning of their flight to LA to the smell of chamomile tea and the taste of cat hair. He blinks awake slowly, bringing his arm up to shield off the light that’s coming in through his open window – what’s it doing open? – and rolls over to greet Daisy. She mews at him tiredly, so he just scratches around her ears before catching sight of the tea on his bedside table.

His stomach gives a nervous jolt at the sight, and he makes himself take a deep breath before sitting up and taking it into his hands. Daisy gets up then too, nuzzling her way through his legs while Harry takes a cautionary sip, and he lets himself smile when it tastes just exactly right.

Some part of him wonders if Louis made this when he was somewhat lucid, but most of him hopes he didn’t. Louis had been having a lot more of those moments lately, especially since bringing Daisy home, and sometimes he’ll wake up with a body wrapped in tan skin, walk into the flat and be greeted with a kiss, be confronted with screams and promises and _soon_ , _not now_ , _someday_.

“Harry?” Louis calls from the kitchen, voice high and raspy like it usually is when he’s just woken up.

“Yeah?” He calls back, laughing when Daisy tries to get into his cup.

“Is Daisy in there with you? I’ve just put her food out.”

Harry grins into her fur, standing up and adjusting his briefs before picking her up with him and heading out into the flat, sipping from his tea. “Yeah, I’ve got her. Thanks for that, by the way.” He sets her down by her food bowl and straightens up, heading towards the fridge.

“Yeah, it was no problem.” He clears his throat awkwardly, and Harry turns to catch him peeking at the bare of his torso. “So are you all packed and everything? Zayn said the car would be around in about a half hour to take us to the airport.”

Harry reaches for the eggs and pulls them out, hip chucking the door closed. “Almost, just have to get my toiletries together.”

“Is someone going to come look after Daisy? I don’t want to leave her here all alone, doesn’t seem very you know, _parental_.”

Harry snorts. “What kind of person do you take me for, honestly?”

Louis grabs the eggs from Harry’s hands, quirking an eyebrow. “Someone who buys a cat without telling their flat mate, that’s who.”

“Kitten,” Harry corrects, “she’s a kitten. And do you even know how to cook eggs?” He doesn’t, Harry knows he doesn’t.

“No, but you need to shower. Can’t be sitting next to you for nine hours if you smell, now can I?”

Harry smiles around his mug, lets himself take in all the lines of Louis as he smiles back. He likes Louis like this, he decides. He likes him all the time. “You could always sit next to one of the other boys.”

Louis hums in agreement, turning the stove on and grabbing a pan from the cupboard. “What would be the fun in that?”

Daisy finds herself between Harry’s legs, tail lingering against his ankle, rubbing her face against every inch of his foot. And it all sort of comes together, the sounds, the breath, because Harry is standing here half naked in the kitchen at half past seven in the morning, and there’s Louis, making eggs like he won’t burn the kitchen down, like he’d sit next to Harry for the next nine hours even if he smelled like sweat and cat fur.

Louis turns to look back when he doesn’t hear a response, and a slow blush creeps against his cheekbones. “What?”

_He’s got a bloody crush on you, for gods sake._

Harry wants to kiss him, doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to kiss him so much in his life. He hadn’t thought that much about kissing Louis since after the accident, and especially after he’d started becoming more lucid. They kissed all the time then, like normal, like nothing had changed.

But that was the thing. So much had changed, everything had changed, and Harry wasn’t the same Harry who’d kissed the same Louis, and so it never felt real, never felt the same. Harry wasn’t pining after him, wasn’t seeking desperate kisses late at night in bed when Louis would sneak in, confused as to why he wasn’t there in the first place. Harry kissed him because Louis kissed him first.

But Harry wants to kiss him now, wants to kiss Louis, wants to kiss him as he is now, all tired eyes and loose lips and flushed cheeks, wants to cut away the distance like he’s drowning in it, wants to cover all the spaces in between. Because it’s never been this beautiful before, he doesn’t think, because Louis is lighting up the room in all sorts of colors, too bright for this lifetime, too bright for _this_ , and if he doesn’t kiss him now, he doesn’t think he ever will.

“Nothing,” Harry murmurs, because he wants to savor this, as much as he can.

 

~

 

Once they get on the plane things get easier. It’s eating at him, pushing at his lungs, and it’s like Harry can’t even breathe unless he’s kissing Louis, somehow, even if just in his head. The other boys are pretty loud the entire flight, Niall getting out of his seat to rock out with Zayn to whatever music is blasting over them, but Louis is huddled deep in his coat, body turned towards Harry, ankles resting against knees, an ear bud between them. So Harry thinks he can get used to never breathing again if never breathing again felt like this.

He’d been the one to initiate the first time around, he’d been the one who’d pressed, pushed, refused to keep a distance, and he’s determined to do it differently this time. Because that’s what this was like, in a way, like a second chance. It wasn’t that they’d done it wrong the first time around, because they hadn’t, he hadn’t, it was just bad timing for just about every aspect of their lives.

He thinks if he let Louis come to him this time, he wouldn’t be so afraid, wouldn’t be so afraid of loving Harry.

“Alright boys,” Liam calls out, “we’ve got a hotel booked for the next couple of nights that we’re in LA, so now is the time to declare any roomies if you’d like.”

“Oh Liam,” Zayn sighs, “sweet Liam, be my roomie?”

“’Ey!” Niall butts in, “no fair, I don’t want to room alone.”

Harry feels Louis’s ankle shift against his knee, and it feels a lot like a promise.

“Like I’d room with any of you,” Zayn says. “Perrie is going to be there, figure I’d get a room of my own.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Niall winks, just the right amount of exaggeration. “Alright Liam then, how about it?”

“Are you going to wake me up at seven in the morning for breakfast?”

“’Course not, I’ll go over to Harry’s room for that.”

“Fair enough,” Harry murmurs, and watches the way Niall’s lips curl up.

“Okay then.” Liam looks over between them, eyebrows raised. “Harry? Lou? Together or separate?”

“Together,” Louis answers with a shrug. “Why not?”

_Why not?_

~

 

Harry is pleasantly drunk. He can’t quite walk in a straight line – though when could he ever? – and everything is just this side of hilarious. They’d won an award, of course, best something or other, Harry isn’t really up for remembering, and Louis had kept touching, elbows to elbows, knees to knees, hip to hip. But as the night carried on and Harry lost the ability to be by himself, Louis was there, hand on his lower back, leading, pointing him home.

Harry can barely breathe. He’s clutching at Louis’s shirt carelessly, bubbles of laughter bursting their way from his throat, and Harry wants to keep them there, wants to catch them in the curls of his fingers. They make their rounds of course, and it’s strange, because Harry can’t remember the last time he and Louis had actually been next to each other, out in public, in front of the cameras. It’s nice.

Paul finds them eventually, Zayn, Liam and Niall in tow, and they head back to the van waiting out back. Harry trips over himself at least twice trying to get inside, and Louis is just there, bright and loud behind him, comparing him to giraffes and elephants, and Harry thinks his lips are forming around a response, something snarky, but it really just sounds nonsensical.

“Alright you two,” Liam sighs, pushing Louis into the empty seat beside Harry, “straight back to the hotel.”

“Leeyuum,” Harry whines, “I want to go to that other party. Ed was telling me about it. Where’s Ed?”

“He’s probably already left for it then, and you’re already buckled in, so no. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

As soon as Zayn and Niall are inside and the door is shut, the van lurches off towards the hotel, a parade of paparazzi behind them, lights flashing against the tinted car windows, like the idea of them inside is story enough.

The van ride is funny, as funny as van rides can be when you’re drunk. Liam is sighing like a disappointed father while Harry and Niall crack lame jokes, but Louis is laughing with him the whole way and he couldn’t feel more on top of the world.

“Your dimples are nice,” Louis says lazily, poking them when one of Harry’s smiles is big enough for them to pop out. “So are your curls.” He moves his fingers to Harry’s hair, and it’s so nice, too nice, Harry has to close his eyes. “Curly,” he whispers, and Harry lets himself pretend it’s just for him.

“Lou you’re so pissed,” Harry laughs, because he needs to lighten the mood, he’s _drunk_ , and there are others in the car.

“ _You’re_ so pissed,” Louis says, pushing his head away.

“I am.”

“Where are we going? Are we going back to the hotel?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Liam gets out, “I’ve told you.”

“Sorry Liam,” Harry sighs, offering a pat on the knee in apology. “’M just tired. Always tired.”

Louis stares at the side of Harry’s face for a moment after that, head resting back against the window, and it’s not until Harry looks back that he smiles.

When the van finally pulls up to their hotel, it’s too late for Harry to worry about the paps. There are only a couple from what he can see, so he tries to ignore them, pushing back his hair and waiting for the other boys to get out.

“Fuck it’s freezing. Was it this cold before?”

“It’s technically winter,” Harry answers matter-of-factly, earning a smack on the back of the head from Zayn.

“ _Technically_ winter? Isn’t it spring?” He feels Louis’s fingers grab onto the bottom of his shirt, knuckles brushing the goose bumps on his skin.

They make it into the building quickly, white light against the darkness, and then mosey into the elevator. Louis ends up hitting all the buttons, much to the chagrin of the other boys and an elderly woman who had been out walking her dog, and by the fifth floor Harry gets restless and pulls Louis out to find the stairwell, the rest of the boys forgotten.

“Harry,” Louis whines, “slow _down_ , how are you so uncoordinated but manage to be so fast?”

“It’s all in the footwork,” Harry giggles, and christ, is he really so drunk he’s giggling?

“I don’t _care_.”

Harry laughs, all sorts of words getting caught in his throat when the warmth of Louis’s fingers wrap around his wrist, strong and steady. He tries to steady himself on the railing, tries to wrap his fingers back out to Louis, because he doesn’t want to let him go, doesn’t want to let this go, but his coordination isn’t exactly matching up with what’s in his head, so he just finishes stumbling up the last few flights of stairs to their floor and pulls Louis through the door.

“Do you have the keycard? I don’t know where mines ended up,” Louis gets out, patting his pockets.

“Not sure,” Harry huffs out, slowing down as they approach the door. Lou lets go of his wrist so he can search his pockets, lips parted, panting, and Harry can feel him watching from where he’s perched himself against the wall.

“Hey Haz? Harry?”

“Yeah Lou?”

“What’s Larry Stylinson?”

Harry freezes, fingers against the keycard buried beneath his phone, and looks up at him. “What?”

Louis rolls his eyes, a smirk on his lips. “I’ve heard it before you know, in interviews. Nobody ever explains anything to me, not even _Zayn_.”

Harry swallows, licks the dry from his lips. “How come you’re asking me? Why don’t you just look it up?”

“I _did_ , is the thing. It was a bit confusing in the end.” He waves his hand in front of him flippantly before continuing. “Lots of articles, lots of things I apparently said, lots of analyzing. It’s weird you know, seeing yourself do things you can’t remember, seeing yourself say things you can’t remember. It was like a whole other life, really.”

Harry can’t exactly breathe, like every piece of him is closed up.

“Was it real? See that’s what I couldn’t really tell. There was so much proof, and it was weird you know, because the more I read the more I understood. You know like, Eleanor being a beard and all that? Liam said that once, on accident. I remember.” He’s got his arms down by his sides, fingers curling and uncurling against the fabric of his trousers, and his eyes, god his _eyes_. “Was it real?”

The room is shaking a bit, and he wishes he had something to grab on to. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t _want_ you to say _anything_. Could you just tell me the truth for once?”

“Well,” Harry breathes, “are you just going to act like you don’t already know, then?”

Louis purses his lips together, corners turned down. “I know what it looks like, you know. I know what it looks like to have you stare at me that way.”

Harry definitely can’t breathe.

“You do it a lot, when you think I’m not watching.” He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter, I can feel it. I’ve always felt it.”

“You’re drunk,” Harry gets out.

“That’s not an _excuse_.” Louis is breathing so heavy, like the weight of the world is on top of him, and Harry doesn’t think Louis’s eyes have ever looked so blue. His brow is furrowed, and he looks worried, or like he’s thinking, or doing something that someone who is drunk shouldn’t do. “Was it real?”

The world is full of hazy blue, drunk blue, Louis blue. “Yes,” he whispers.

And then Louis is kissing him, breathing into him, and it’s so gentle against the waves of fear, fingers grasping, taking, wringing themselves into the fabric at the base of his spine. Harry feels like he’s drowning, lungs screaming, whole body explosive, and Louis is tugging at his curls, lips parting, consuming every inch.

Harry lets Louis shove him up against the door, so hard it vibrates against the walls, lets him have control of this, of his tongue and lips and body. And Harry wishes he wasn’t so pissed, wishes he could make this better than a late night drunken snog. But Louis is rubbing circles against the pulse in his throat, can feel his pulse beat back at him, and he wonders if this is what it feels like to be one half of a whole.

“Keycard,” Louis says against his lips, “get in, inside.”

Harry pulls away with a choked off noise, annoyed that he has to stop touching in order to fish it out of his pocket, and pushes it hastily into the slot. As soon as the button is green, Louis is turning the handle and pushing him inside, fingers tight around the lapels of Harry’s blazer, breath heavy against his exposed throat, and doesn’t even wait for the door to shut before he’s pulling it off.

Harry’s shirt comes next, and as soon as it’s off Louis is mouthing along the swallows on his chest, tongue tracing every curve, and it’s almost painful to push him away in order to get his shirt off as well. They stumble back towards the bedroom, sliding doors left open, and Harry turns them around just as the backs of Louis’s knees hit the mattress.

“Shit,” Louis gets out, high and breathy, as Harry brings his hand down to cradle his arse, lifting them further up the bed. “ _Shit_.”

And Harry isn’t exactly sure what he’s doing, not positive Louis knows what he’s doing either, but he’s warm and bright like the sun, a beacon behind his closed eyelids, and the thought of pulling away seems impossible.

Louis is making quick work of Harry’s zipper, knuckles rubbing against his growing erection. And it feels good, so _good_ , but he’s not looking Harry in the eyes either, and Harry needs to stop, needs to just understand. He moves his hand from where it’s tangled in Louis’s fringe to pry his fingers away from his crotch, breath heavy between them, and waits for Louis to look at him.

“Lou,” he murmurs, slurred and not at all as clear as it feels in his head, and he _hates_ that. He needs to get his point across, he needs his lips to work properly for this.

Louis stares at him, pupils blown, all parts of him blown, and Harry can feel his breath against his face, light and warm. “Stop,” he whispers after a moment. “Don’t do that.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows, feels anxiety starting to creep along the dip of his spine. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me that way.” His adams apple bobs awkwardly against the skin of his throat. “Not now, not like this.”

The room falls dizzy around him, white hot and anxious, and he has to grind his teeth together to keep his eyes open. “Does it bother you?”

Louis brings his free hand up, lets his fingers trace along all the lines of Harry’s lips, swollen and red against the darkness of the room. “No,” he whispers. “I don’t think it could ever bother me.”

And that’s – that’s okay, isn’t it? Harry thinks he may be too drunk for this, or not drunk enough, but words keep catching in his teeth and his body won’t move properly and he just really, really wishes that he could do this right, that he and Louis could look at each other sober the same way they do drunk.

Harry rolls off of him, onto his side, but keeps an arm around his chest, fingers light in the silk of his hair. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” Louis gets out, “I know.”

“I don’t know how much you’ve guessed, or remembered, or _thought_ about –“

“Harry.” Louis shakes his head, and it vibrates against the pillows. “I just want you here, okay?”

His eyes are soft, a pale silver against the backdrop of the hotel window, and he’s close, always so achingly close, so Harry lets himself stay there, lets himself touch Louis’s bare skin, heated and flushed along the duvet. And his eyes are watching him, fingers trailing his, and they are never wavering, the tug between their maps so perfectly aligned.

Harry’s pulse is everywhere, chest heaving even though there’s enough air, always enough air, and the longer Louis keeps looking at him like that the longer he realizes how different this all is, all sorts of breath and lungs different. He swallows slowly, feels the stretch of every word he’s ever said, and lets himself look right back.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

 


	19. Part nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I understand completely if you guys never want to read my work ever again

It’s cold. Harry can hear the low murmur of the television coming in from the other room, the blue light dancing across the window shades. His head is pounding, so he shuts his eyes again, focuses on the faint smell of Louis against the pillow instead, and tries to keep his body still.

There’s the soft sound of a kettle whistling from their attached kitchenette, steam gathering momentum, and the creak of the sofa as who can only be Louis gets up to take it from the stove. Harry lets his eyes open then, vision blurry, and he can see from the bedside clock that it’s three thirty in the morning. He swallows against the cotton in his mouth, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling, the only thing that doesn’t seem to be moving in circles.

Louis hums from the adjoining room, and it’s calming against the uneasiness of his stomach, churning against sickness and alcohol and too many unanswered questions. They hadn’t talked much after what had happened, just fell into a comfortable silence, and later into sleep. But Louis had stayed in his bed, hadn’t left with Harry awake, hadn’t snuck into his own duvet across the room. That meant something, didn’t it?

Harry forces himself to get up then, groaning against the pain in his stomach, and pushes away from the mattress, feet stumbling a bit before he finds his footing. The light from the television is practically blinding him, so he hides behind his arm, fingers scraping away sweaty curls from his forehead.

Louis is just coming out from the kitchen, tea in hand, when Harry shuffles up to the couch, squinting at the cartoon dancing across the screen. His breath hitches, knuckles white around the handle of his mug, and Harry smiles over at him, although it’s quite possible it looks more like a grimace with the way his head is screaming.

“Hi,” he murmurs softly.

“Hey,” Harry croaks out, wincing. “How are you not on your death bed? I thought you drank more than me.”

“I didn’t drink that much.”

“Oh.” Harry scratches absentmindedly at his stomach, scrubbing a hand down his face and pointing to the mug in Louis’s hand. “’S that tea?”

“Yeah,” he says. “The kettle is still hot. Want me to make you some?”

Harry shakes his head before turning towards the couch because the walls are starting to move again, and he thinks he might throw up, so yes the couch, the couch is good. He falls awkwardly against the cushions, groaning, before reaching for the remote and turning the sound on mute.

Louis sits down next to him a few seconds later, knees drawn up to his chest and shoulders bumping, before taking a long drag from his tea. He’s staring, but Harry doesn’t think Louis wants him staring back just yet, so he keeps his hooded gaze on the TV, arms limp by his sides.

“I’d always wondered about these you know,” he hears Louis say quietly after a moment, fingertips light against the ink of his ship. “I must have checked it at least a dozen times.”

Harry clears his throat, shifting his legs a bit. “Checked what?”

“That they were meant to match.” He lets his legs fall down the couch, feet knocking against ankles. “Should give some credit to those fans of ours, they really know their stuff.”

Harry breathes steadily, focuses on the way Louis feels beside him, whole and real, _there_ , for the first time in a long time. His toes just barely graze the dip of Harry’s foot, legs extended, and it’s reassuring, the way he presses them there so unconsciously.

“ _God_ ,” Louis mutters, “we were so obvious weren’t we?”

Harry deflates against the couch, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend like you were there.”

Louis is silent for a moment, taking another sip from his tea, legs brushing. “You don’t have to be an arsehole.”

“I’m _not_ , I just.” He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to breathe. “You confuse me. And I’m nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?”

“ _Yes_ , Lou, christ. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Okay,” he says softly, but his body leans into Harry all the same.

Harry’s head hurts less after that, but his throat is killing him, so he reaches up to pluck Louis’s tea from his fingers, taking a sip and enjoying the way it eases down his throat, settling the chaos in his stomach. “Why’d you kiss me last night?”

Louis’ intake of breath should have been answer enough, but last night had been confusing, full of drunken slurs and a lot of questions left unanswered, and Harry just wants to make sure that Louis had wanted it too, not just because he had thought Harry was chasing something too far gone.

“Because you make me nervous too.”

Harry traces the cursive lettering around the mouth of the mug, lips pursed. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I don’t want you think –“

“Is that what you think?” Louis takes the tea from his hands and sets it on the coffee table. “Do you think I don’t want it?”

Harry doesn’t know how to answer because yes, yes that’s exactly what he thought.

“Last night just gave me my reason, Harry. I’d been having these dreams, so _vivid_ , so real, of us, together, and it scared me shitless you know? I’d never been with a guy, and then suddenly I’m having _dreams_ about you. They weren’t always when I was asleep either. And after last night, after Larry Stylinson, it just all clicked together really.”

Harry can’t breathe. “You were remembering.”

“Yes,” Louis says, “ and you scare me. You scare me so much.”

Harry leans his head back against the cushions so that he can see Louis properly, all tangled hair and tired eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Louis scoffs. “How was I supposed to bring that up? Those dreams, those _memories_ , they blurred into thoughts. And I –“ He rubs at his cheeks. “I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Harry swallows loudly against his echoing pulse, throbbing along his skin, making him feel short of breath. “I’ve been in love with you for four years,” he gets out. “There’s no way you would have scared me off.”

Louis’s fingers curl against the hem of his shirt. “Is that how long we were together?”

Harry shakes his head, eyes soft. “No. Took you awhile.”

“Yeah, I tend to do that.” He stares at the mug for quite a while, shadows from the television flashing across his face, lighting up the exhaustion beneath his eyes, the eyelashes against his cheeks. Harry really wants to kiss him. “Can I ask a question?”

Harry hums in acknowledgement.

“Why was I with Eleanor? If I was with you, why was I with her?”

“Publicity purposes,” Harry sighs, pushing back his hair. “We had to keep up appearances somehow.”

“So we weren’t out?”

Harry furrows his eyebrows, looks away to where his fingers are rubbing away at his knee. “No.”

“Well why not?” He asks it so incredulously, like there weren’t reasons, like Louis hadn’t been so _afraid_.

“We weren’t ready,” he says instead.

“Bullshit,” Louis breathes.

“What -?”

“I’ve seen them, the interviews.” He brushes his fingers through the strands of his fringe, soft against the light of the TV. “I watched them earlier when you were asleep.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “How could I have _done_ that to you?”

Harry thinks it’s too early to be having this conversation, that he may still be too drunk for it, but he straightens up anyway, turns his body to give Louis the full attention those words need.

“You didn’t _do_ anything to me,” he replies, eyebrows knitted to the point of discomfort. “We decided on it together, Lou, whatever it was we did.”

Louis still won’t look at him, and Harry wishes he had the courage to cup Louis’s face, push the fringe from his eyes, pull him in against his chest, wishes he had the courage to know if Louis would want that too. Instead he reaches for the tea again, Louis’ apparent point of interest, and takes a sip.

“Did you want to come out?” The question is timid, like he has no right to ask.

Harry thinks for a moment, focuses in on the white noise projecting from the television speakers. He doesn’t know how to phrase an answer to that, because yes, he did want to come out. He wanted to come out so badly it ate at him, every day. Louis had known that too, had ignored it sometimes when Harry needed him most. “I didn’t want to come out without you,” he says, and it’s not entirely a lie.

“And I didn’t want to?”

Harry hums. “You said it yourself. Fear drives people back into the closet.”

When Louis looks at him his eyes are swimming, throat tense under the blue light. “Harry –“

“Don’t.” His grip on the mug is too tight. “I’m not saying that to make you feel bad about things you can’t remember. We had a relationship, a very non-platonic relationship, that much is obvious. You had been scared, it was understandable.”

“For _years_?”

“Louis –“

“No, just because I can’t remember doesn’t excuse the fact that I was that person, that I did those things to you.”

Harry stays quiet after that, lets his gaze run across all the parts of Louis emblazed against the darkness. He can’t tell where the lines end really, between them, and it’s a bit reassuring right now, with the way Louis keeps his gaze away, jaw taught and fingers fisted into the cushions. Harry turns away then, rests his head back against the couch and watches the program, subtitles dancing along the bottom of the screen.

He’s so tired. Every part of him is sagging, drifting into sleep, but he knows he needs to keep himself awake, needs to be _awake_ for this. Everything is fading into blurry lines, and Louis is grabbing the cup from his limp hand, mouth slack, and god Harry wants to kiss him.

“I like you, you know,” he hears Louis say softly.

 “I know,” Harry says back. “I didn’t think you would, but I know.”

"It was easy.” He licks his lips before looking up, letting their gazes meet. “It was easier than anything.”

Harry’s breath is starling against his chest.

“I thought I’d get over it.”

Harry has to touch him, has to say something, so he shifts until his cheek is pressed between their shoulders and lifts his hand, cups the frame of Louis’s jawline, runs his thumb along the shape of it. “Still can.”

“Doesn’t feel like I have much of a choice.”

He has to close his eyes for a moment before saying, “Can I kiss you, maybe?”

“Yes,” Louis breathes, and Harry sees it more than he hears it. He leans forward then, catches Louis’s bottom lip between his, tastes away the traces of black tea, like cream against his tongue, before pulling away slowly. He keeps his fingers there though, pressing, watching as all the colors of Louis deepen.

His chest is heaving, body lined up against all the curves Harry is making, and he brings his fingers up to run through Harry’s curls, damp with sweat, before leaning in again.

Harry opens his mouth immediately, grip tightening, fingers falling to the creases of Louis’s shirt. He can feel his breath leave him in the way Louis kisses him, gentle but with purpose, tongue tracing every word he’s kept hidden there. Louis becomes more persistent though, lips dragging mercilessly, breath getting heavier between them, too bright behind his closed eyelids.

His hands won’t stop moving, desperate, aching to touch tiger-eyed skin and feathered hair. He thinks for a moment that it may be too much, with the way they ruck up underneath his shirt, that Louis will pull away, but Louis is practically pulling out Harry’s hair and he’s letting out soft, quick puffs of breath, masking over the whines stuck in his throat.

Harry thinks he’s seeing his whole life flash before his eyes.

He pushes forward, lays Louis out on the couch beneath him, skin hot beneath his touch, and nips his bottom lip, sighing in the way Louis’s fingers scrape against his scalp. He rolls his hips down experimentally, bends his knee at the same time, and Louis whimpers, warm and quiet into Harry’s mouth.

It shocks through him, ignites every limb, so he keeps rocking against the frame of Louis’s hips, legs spread apart for him. But then Louis is pulling away, dropping his head back against the cushions and openly _moaning_ , quick quiet bursts, hands falling to twist against the couch supports.

Harry attaches his lips to the gold of Louis’ neck, tasting saltwater and sunshine, sucking bruises against love bites long gone, ones he remembers too clearly. He wraps his fingers around Louis’s wrists, thumbs digging into the indents of his palms, warm and trembling, and Louis responds immediately, fingers automatically clamping down around whatever piece of Harry he’s offering, hips rising off the couch to meet him.

“Harry,” he gets out, sounding more like a groan than anything else. “Please, I –“ The rest of his words turn into nonsense when Harry drops his hips just right, cock dragging right under his balls, and it’s white hot, so _good_ he can’t breathe, back arching.

Louis leans forward breathlessly to mouth at Harry’s neck, but it’s sloppy and wet and Harry is so, so close already. He ruts his hips faster, biting his lip against the burn of his cotton briefs, but Louis is whimpering a, “so close,” just below his ear and it takes all of his energy to keep his eyes open, to see Louis fall apart beneath him.

“It’s okay,” Harry murmurs against the outline of his lips, panting. “It’s okay Lou.”

And then Louis’s body is shaking, hips stilling, mouth falling open around a broken sob. Harry watches him, watches the pull of his lips, the contractions in his throat, the way his body feels so tense against Harry’s frame, and then he’s coming too, bottom lip pulled between his teeth so hard he tastes blood.

When Louis finally opens his eyes, Harry is waiting there for him, fingers relaxing their grip around his wrists, wiping away the sweat there. His eyes are hooded, tired, skin painted blue with the television screen, flushed with heat.

“Hi.”

Harry huffs out a laugh. “Hi.”

His eyes are shining. “I think you’re beautiful, you know. Do you know that?”

Harry can only shake his head, looking away, chest burning.

“Hey.” Louis swallows loudly, brings his hand up to rest against the back of Harry’s neck, forces him to look back. “I’m not scared. I’m not scared that you can remember me and I can’t remember you. I need you to know that.”

Harry’s arms are shaking. He feels like he’s underwater, tries to move his limbs, his mouth, but nothing is coming out fast enough.

Louis is still looking at him though, lips curved gently up to meet with his eyes, full of crinkles and laugh lines and secrets he doesn’t know about. “Okay?”

Harry brings his forehead down, rests it against Louis’s, and inhales deeply before saying, “okay. But if it ever –“

“ _Harry_.”

He smiles wide then, an echo of Louis he thinks, and nods.

 


	20. Part twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these last few chapters may not be right on time, but I am trying my best! I've got midterms soon. thank you all for putting up with me!

“Harry.”

There’s something cold pushing against his calves, warm breath puffing against his neck, and he tries to squirm away because _no_ , it is far too early for him to even consider waking up. His head is pounding, mouth like sandpaper, and there’s a roughness in his briefs that makes it much too uncomfortable to move.

“ _Harry_.”

The pressing gets more insistent, until he can feel fingertips dancing lightly against his cheek, pushing back the curls draped over his face, protecting him from the light shining in from somewhere to his left. He groans, trying to push the hand away, but his arm just flops uselessly, colliding with something soft and –

“Ow! _Harold_ , seriously? Have you resulted to violence now?”

Harry sighs, sniffling against his bicep – the only thing that seems to be separating his head from the carpet apparently – and pets whatever body part he’s seemed to have hit, still refusing to open his eyes. “M’sorry Lou.”

“Yes well, petting my bum isn’t exactly going to make me forgive you.”

He cracks a smile at that, allowing his eyes to drift open slowly, throat burning. His lips fall almost instantly though when his vision finally settles enough, because Louis is there, so close, hair disheveled, eyes small and glassy and crinkled, and his cheeks are pink, lips red and puffy from –

“Hi,” he breathes, heart racing, because he can’t remember why he’d ever want to sleep through this.

“Hi yourself,” Louis murmurs back, fingertips disappearing from his hair. “You feeling alright? I’d really like to make you some tea, but you’re sort of not so delicately draped over me at the moment.”

Harry stares for a moment. “Shall I get off you then?”

“If you’d like.”

He hums, toes pressing. “And if I don’t?”

Louis raises a tired eyebrow, lips perking in interest. “You’re too hungover, don’t get cheeky with me.” He leans forward anyway though, noses brushing, and Harry can feel the kiss of his eyelashes as he lets his eyes drift closed again, bodies crowded. His next words are whispered, a puff of air against Harry’s lips. “I suppose we can stay here for a few more minutes.”

Harry reaches up then, cards his fingers through Louis’s fringe, eyes open, always open. He doesn’t think he could close them again after this. “You don’t have to take care of me you know.”

Louis keeps his eyes closed, but his brows furrow tightly, body shuffling closer. “Yes I do.”

He rolls his eyes, smile touching the corners of his lips, and pauses to rub his thumb against Louis’s temple. “Can I kiss you?”

“Harry.” His fingers trace lightly over the curve of Harry’s neck. “Please stop asking me. You don’t have to ask me.”

So Harry leans in, captures Louis’s bottom lip between his own before leaning back, eyes falling shut. He can feel Louis’s fingers curled tightly against his collarbone, blunt nails scraping along his sparrows, and it’s calming, helps him breathe easier.

He wishes he could make this easier, could somehow even the playing field. It’s not that Harry doesn’t know how Louis feels, but right now his feelings are so much _stronger_ , bigger, enveloping, and he’s afraid of making Louis feel uncomfortable or overwhelmed. He’s managed to control himself all this time so far, he just hopes he can keep it up.

Louis sighs gently against him before Harry feels him lean forward and kiss him again, lips wet. It’s beautiful, the way Louis feels when they kiss, full of tired lips and tired limbs. Trusting. Harry breathes into him, feels the way Louis pulls closer, fingers tight in his curls, tongue tracing maps, and he wishes they could stay like this forever. But Harry has always been too wishful.

He pulls back slowly, teeth dragging against Louis’s bottom lip before allowing his eyes to drift open again. Louis still has his eyes closed, crinkles spreading out from along every crease his lips make, cheeks like the sunset, and this is new for Harry, because he’s never remembered Louis like this before.

Harry’s interrupted from his thoughts when his phone goes off in the other room. Louis opens his eyes then, groaning halfheartedly as he pushes his hands against Harry’s chest. “Go on then.”

His feet don’t quite work properly as he gets up, legs twisted and stomach weighing heavy, but he manages to find his footing before using the wall to guide him, jaw aching from his headache. He reaches for the phone lost in his pants pocket just in time, sighing into the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Good, you’re awake. We’ve got a problem.”

Harry rubs at his eyes, listens to Louis bang his head on the coffee table. “What are you talking about?”

Zayn sounds tired. “I think it’s under control, at least. I mean. Management – “

“You don’t exactly get to the point fast, do you?”

“Twat, I’m trying to give you _time_.”

Louis swears maliciously as he gets to his feet, hand cradling the back of his head as he stumbles around the couch towards the bathroom. Harry tries very hard not to watch his bum disappear behind the door.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, sorry. Ehm. So what’s going on?”

“A couple of girls were on your floor last night, saw you and Lou.”

Harry thinks he’s going to throw up. Lights burst against his peripherals, hand reaching out to steady himself against the bed. “What?” His words are breathless. He can’t _breathe_.

“Harry,” Zayn murmurs, “Harry don’t okay. Please just breathe. In and out, yeah?”

His vision is waning ridiculously close to black, and all he can focus on is the light peeking out from beneath the closed door of the bathroom. His throat is constricting, muscles too tight, and he tries to relax but it feels like that just makes it worse. Everything feels too crowded, too pressed, narrowed in on that one stupid spot.

“ _Harry_.”

“I’m.” He’s.

“The girls have been found, they’re with management now. They made sure to delete everything – “

“ _Delete_?” Harry wheezes. “You think that _matters_?”

“Look, as far as we can tell there haven’t been any copies. They weren’t even that good you know, all blurry and from a weird angle. It could have been _anything_.”

Harry doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say. What is he supposed to say? They’d only just talked, only just gotten together, kissed, for _real_ , for what’s felt like the only real time in his life. But it was still new. Louis didn’t love him, Louis didn’t have four years pooling in the back of his mind. And now it’s possible he’d been outed as well, without a clear definition, a clear view, without a clear thought in his head.

“Paul is coming to get you both now. Just, whatever you do, don’t open your windows yeah?”

“What?” Harry asks incredulously. “Why?”

“There’s a crowd.”

“There’s always a crowd.”

“Yes well, it’s for you both innit?”

Harry lets out something that sounds an awful lot like a strangled sob, fingers wrapping around the silver chains dangling from his neck. “Please Zayn, I need. Fuck.”

“Listen to me. Are you listening?”

Harry makes a noise in the back of his throat.

“This is not the end of the world. This is not the end of Louis and Harry. This is not the end of Louis. You guys were reckless last night, but you were _always_ reckless. Do you know how many pictures and videos of you both in clubs and dressing rooms have gotten out? Of course you do. And guess what, management always fights them, and things always go back to the same.”

“But it’s not the same,” Harry gets out, throat sore, whole body sore. “It’s not the same as before.”

“Well if you keep up whatever it is you’re doing you’ll only freak him out more, okay? Where is he?”

“Bathroom.”

“Right. You’ve got to tell him, alright? It’s probably best, you know, before management gets their hands on him.”

“I can’t,” Harry whispers, lowering himself against the mattress. “Zayn, I can’t.”

He’s silent for a moment. “Harry.”

“This isn’t – “

“Stop it, stop. You’re being a coward.”

“I am _not_ a coward,” Harry says, knuckles white. “You weren’t there. You don’t get it.”

“Get what? They’re just words – “

“They’re not just words, Zayn,” Harry get’s out. “They’re never just _words_ when they’re attached to a _ghost_. Because that’s all this has been, all I’ve ever seen, for four years it’s just _black_ , because no amount of words could stop the screaming and drunken showers and rough _fucks_ that somehow mask over a pain I could _never_ keep away.” He can’t breathe again, lights popping out in the dimness of the room. “I can’t go back there again.”

He can hear Zayn breathing on the other end, lets him for a little while, before dropping his head into his hands. “I can’t go back there again.”

“What’d he do to you?”

Harry shakes his head before he reminds himself that Zayn can’t see him. “He’s not a bad person.”

“No,” Zayn sighs, “he’s not.”

The door creaks open behind him and he hears Louis grumble something before falling onto the bed next to him, fingertips brushing lightly against his hipbone.

“D’you want some tea?”

Harry rubs at his temples before looking back with a small smile. “Yeah Lou, that’d be great.”

Louis smiles back, concern in his forehead, but he just leans up and kisses Harry’s fingertips, bruised deep into his skin, before running a soft hand through his curls. “You okay, love?”

“Yeah, I’m just.” He swallows the blue in Louis’ gaze. “Zayn is on the phone.”

Louis smiles at that, bringing his mouth closer before exclaiming, “morning Zaynie!”

Zayn chuckles through the earpiece, masked over with a stiffness only Harry seems to notice. Louis cards his hand through Harry’s curls once more before scooting off the bed and disappearing into the small kitchenette.

“He’s going to know.”

“I know.”

“I think you should be the one to tell him.”

“Zayn.” Harry bites his lip, glances at the curtains. He can hear the screaming already, faint behind the static of his phone. “I already told you.”

“And I listened. And I still think you should be the one to tell him. You really think he wants to hear something like this from Tesla?”

Harry takes a moment to breathe, listens to Louis in the other room. “I don’t know what to tell him. I’ve never been good with words.”

Zayn snorts. “You’ve always been good with words Harry. The best, actually.”

“Okay.”

“Just get your shit together, Paul should be there soon.”

Harry hangs up with a sore chest and wobbly legs. He stands up carefully before pulling off his briefs, cum crusted to the inside, and puts on a pair of joggers instead. He heads back into the main area, fingers uselessly pushing back his hair, lips trembling, before sitting down at the counter.

Louis throws a smile over at him before turning back to the tea. “I called room service. I ordered you an omelet, that okay? If not I got about five different types of rolls and cheese spreads, and this weird sounding meat that I think is like salami but starts with a P – “

“Louis.”

He turns to look at Harry then, stupid smile still on his face, and Harry thinks he’d rather die than see it leave. “There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

“You’re not pregnant are you?” Louis jokes.

Harry doesn’t laugh, just stares at all the places his fingers blend into the marble.

“Harry.”

“Apparently a couple of girls got some footage of us last night, in the hall.” Louis doesn’t say anything, so he goes on. “Zayn says they’ve managed to take them all down this morning – “

“I know.”

Harry really needs to learn how to fucking breathe. “You what?”

Louis shrugs, turns away briefly to stir the sugar into Harry’s tea. “I saw them online.”

“You what?”

Louis smiles and Harry is so, so confused. He finishes with the tea and sets Harry’s in front of him, blowing gently against his own mug before taking a cautious sip.

“That’s why I was awake earlier. I couldn’t really sleep after you, so I thought I’d try to find some more answers.” He shrugs again. “I saw them not too far after they’d been uploaded. I reckon they’re most definitely gone now, but.” He sets his tea down, traces the top of Harry’s wrist. “That’s why I was awake earlier.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? After I said all those things to you, after we.” He feels like he’s going to throw up. But Louis just cocks his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed, still donning that damn _smile_ , and Harry remembers it, makes him feel sixteen all over again.

_I won't let anybody hurt you.  
_

“Did you think I’d be angry?”

“I.” He doesn’t know.

“I’m scared, that’s for certain. But I’m not angry.”

“You’re not.”

Louis takes another sip from his tea. “No.”

Harry’s not entirely sure what to do with himself, because so far it felt like everything had been mapped out, like a repeat of LouisandHarry, but this just _wasn’t_. None of it really has been. “So.”

“So I suppose Tesla wants to enact another clever PR image then?”

“Ehm.”

Louis smirks into his mug. “Such a way with words.”

Harry surges up then, fingers clasped tightly around Louis’s neck before pulling him forward to meet him across the counter, lips rough and breathless. Louis latches onto him, tea forgotten against the granite, shoulders slumped as he lets Harry take control. He grabs on to whatever part of him he can find, fingers bruising against the ink in his skin, nails leaving crescent shaped moons. They kiss like the words between them, and Harry feels more naked than he ever has in his entire life.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes once they separate, tugging a bit at the chains encircling Harry’s neck. “I mean.”

Harry smiles, smoothes back the hair on Louis’ nape.

“You’re something else,” Louis murmurs, eyes flickering. “You going to tell me what that was all about?”

Harry just kisses him softly again. “You might want to get dressed, Paul is coming.”

“The bear? Fantastic, he’s fun.”

Harry snorts.

“But what about room service?”

“I’ll order you a thousand pieces of Prosciutto when we get back.”

Louis hums into his tea. “So _that’s_ what it’s called. Fancy.”

 

~

 

 

“Do you think this is a game?”

Harry tries to hide his smile as best he can, turning his gaze away from Louis to stare back at Tesla. He’s been mocking her the entire meeting. “Sorry?”

“What’s wrong with you? Aren’t you the least bit concerned for your image? For your career?”

“Oh for heavens sake,” Louis gets out, slumping in his seat. “By the sounds of the screaming outside I’d say we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Tesla snorts, turning to look at him. “You? So what, you want to come out, is that it?”

“Not at the moment. Doesn’t make me opposed to the idea, though.”

Harry smiles at that, picks at the thread on his pants.

“This is a breach of _contract_ – “

“It’s not a breach of anything,” Harry speaks up. “You can’t legally force us to do anything about our relationship.”

Tesla inhales sharply before sitting, hands clasped together tightly in front of her. “I’m advising what’s best – “

“Yes well, thank you,” Louis replies.

“Is that what you want then?” She asks. “Speculation?”

“Like it isn’t going on already? Isn’t that what this whole ordeal is about anyway? Speculation?”

“Look,” Harry starts, “I think what we’d like is just a bit _less_ , you know. A bit more control.”

Tesla breathes heavily. “I’ll have to run it by the rest of my team.”

“Please do,” Louis smiles. “I’ve got promise of a breakfast waiting upstairs.”

When they finally do depart, Paul guides them back through the hallways, Louis pressed close to Harry’s side. His fingers grab every once and a while, brushing against Harry’s knuckles, along the back of his hand. Harry smiles the whole way back to their room.

As soon as they’re through the door, Harry calls down to room service again. Louis begins to sashay his jeans off his hips, groaning about needing to breathe before collapsing onto the sofa, pants halfway down his legs. Harry stares at him.

“How on earth do you even fit in those?” Louis remarks, pointing lazily. “I mean are you sure you didn’t just color your legs black denim?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Tends to happen when all the circulation has been cut off from your waist down.” He manages to shuck them all the way off, body deflating. “Good grief. Was that PR as well? I’ll make sure to tell them no jeans, never again. I will only wear joggers, preferably yours.” He scrunches his nose up. “They’re comfier than mine.”

“Lou.” Harry leans against the counter. “Did you mean it back there?”

“Hm?”

“That you weren’t opposed to the idea of coming out.”

Louis shrugs. “Why should I be? As good as I am at acting, I don’t much like to pretend.”

Harry just smiles. “Okay.”

There’s a knock at their door a few moments later, and Harry turns to open it, rolling his eyes at the way Louis bounds up next to him, fingers grasping the back of his shirt.

“Look at all that Proschiato!”

“Prosciutto,” Harry corrects.

“Whatever.”

Harry tips the waiter before pulling the tray inside near the couch, watching as Louis starts before it’s even stopped rolling. They sit down side by side, and Harry watches more than he eats. He’s not too hungry anyway, and Louis keeps making soft noises of approval every time he tries a new cheese.

Harry leans back against the cushions, bites into some bread before slipping his fingers through Louis’s fringe. The boy doesn’t seem to mind though, just carries on eating. He nearly makes it through the whole tray too, before slumping back against Harry’s shoulder and sighing.

“Delicious.”

“Good, then?”

Louis leans back just enough to press a greasy kiss to his cheek. “My Proschiato prince.”

Harry smiles. “Prosciutto.”

“Whatever.”

 


	21. Part twenty-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy. sorry that took a whole whopping month to get out.

The first day of tour Louis isn’t himself. Or he _is_ himself, Harry supposes, just different. He wonders when he started seeing Louis that way, old and new, past and present, and he doesn’t _want_ to, not really. It’s just a bit inevitable, considering the way they feel so different to him now, so opposite.

Harry knows this because Louis won’t touch him. So he just smiles for the cameras, waves at the hundreds of girls standing behind restricted tape, screams loud enough to drown anything out, loud enough to make it seem like Harry isn’t bothered by it.

Instead he pushes an arm around Niall’s shoulders, ignores the curious look he gets. Harry hates that, because what, he’s not allowed to be affectionate with them anymore? Is Louis the only one he’s allowed to ever touch? He wonders if the other boys can tell just as much as him, if they see the hint in Louis’s eyes, in the way he stands, in the way his attention is everywhere but here, elsewhere, somewhere Harry wishes he could be.

When they get into the venue Harry feels him then, fingers light against the cotton of his shirt, pressing, holding, exposing the skin of his collarbone for Louis’s breath to catch on.

“Hey,” he tugs.

“Hey,” Harry murmurs back.

Louis stops them, lets the other boys pass before leaning back against the white brick wall. “Are you okay?”

“’Course,” he responds. “Just a bit jetlagged is all.”

Louis licks his lips with a small nod before cupping the nape of Harry’s neck, pointer finger stroking against the hair there.  “You’re not pulling away are you?”

Harry pushes out his bottom lip, eyes focused in on where his fingers are playing with the hem of Louis’s shirt. “No Lou, I’m just tired.”

He doesn’t know how he feels about lying, about avoiding the truth when he knows this part of him, all these memories and moments of him, will be gone in a few minutes. Harry wishes he could have all parts of him back, that Louis would remember, but some part of him is afraid that nothing would be different. And he needed that, needed something _different_. He couldn’t keep living like that, couldn’t keep himself buried that way.

He feels Louis tug on his fingers. “Please don’t pull away.”

It feels like drowning, like waking up to saltwater in his lungs and a pull too strong to walk against and a burning behind his eyes that he’s not used to. It consumes him that way, every time Louis says something, _says_ how he feels, because its been four years of Harry loving Louis like a burned out sign and Louis loving Harry like the ink pushed too far under his skin.

“I’m not.” He is. He is, he is.

“I need you to understand that I’m not either.”

“Okay.”

“ _Harry_.”

Harry can’t breathe all of a sudden and Louis’s fingers aren’t calming him. “Can we just not? Not right now.”

Louis sighs and it feels like drowning.

 

~

 

Harry needs Zayn. He needs cold fingers and lips against his temple and a cloud of smoke over his head. But Louis is coming after him, lips on fire, all limbs of him still high from the show, and it’s suffocating, endless. He’s pushed up against the clothing rack and it’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t remember any part of this ever feeling uncomfortable, and lets Louis’s hands wander.

He’s praising him, complimenting him with lips and eager fingers because he’s never been good with words – and Harry knows, _knows_ that this is what they do, every time, every show, every night, because Louis is sad and Harry needs comfort and so they just hang off each other, bit by bit, until Louis isn’t so sad anymore and Harry feels wanted.

But Harry needs Zayn more than Louis’ comfort right now and it’s a bit electric, because there’s water in his lungs and throat and stuck somewhere along the gaps of his teeth and Louis hasn’t come to yet, hasn’t remembered, hasn’t forgotten, fuck, _fuck_ , Harry’s out of his depth here.

“Lou,” he chokes out, and it’s mistaken for something more because suddenly his zipper is down and Louis is on his knees and what is he supposed to do _now_?

Harry doesn’t know what he wants anymore.

“Hold on,” he gets out, fingers gripping onto a blazer he’s pretty sure he hasn’t worn in a while. “I just, I need to - I’ve got to pee.”

Louis looks dumbstruck so Harry pulls away, pulls up his zipper, pulls up Louis, pulls away. His legs feel too long as he walks away, hair too tall, pants too tight, feet too pigeon-toed, everything misaligned, and it’s strange, Harry thinks, to feel the same sort of wrong being with him as Harry feels without him.

He wonders when this will be over, if this will ever be over. If he’ll be able to know which moments and parts and memories are floating in the air between them, if they’ll stay there. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to pull away from this, if he’ll be trying to figure out what words to say and what kisses to give and what fucks to take for the rest of his life.

He finds Zayn on Bus 1, eyes closed and beanie pulled over his head like a pillow, unlit cigarette pushed between his fingertips. Harry’s fingers are trembling, like he’s not quite sure what to do with them, but when he stuffs them in his pockets it feels like asthma.

“Zayn?”

He grunts in response, and Harry gets it, he’s tired, _Harry’s_ tired. But.

“Zayn.”

“This better be fuckin’ important, I’m tired as shit.”

Harry’s throat keeps closing up, tongue dry, and he just really wishes it were easier to speak about things he doesn’t understand. “Does it bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

“When he’s, you know.” He doesn’t, he doesn’t fucking know.

Zayn opens his eyes then, cigarette coming to rest on the openness of his thigh. “Does it bother _you_?”

Harry doesn’t answer and he hates it, hates how he used to wish for Louis to come back, to be with him, and now he can’t even _enjoy_ it.

“He’s trying to find his way back home, Harry,” he hears Zayn say. “There’s a reason he keeps coming back, isn’t there?”

And he knows there is, is the thing, and it should be a good sign that he comes back more often. “I’m just confused.”

“He is too.”

Zayn’s good at that, at turning it around on him. Maybe that’s why he needs him so much like this. Harry’s fingers itch for something against the seam of his jeans, and he wonders if Louis is trying to find him, or if maybe he’s given up just like it feels Harry has.

“Just don’t give up on him,” Zayn says, like he’s read Harry’s mind. He puts the unlit cigarette in his mouth and stands up slowly, knees heavy. “This isn’t forever, you know.”

But it was, it was always going to be some sort of forever. He watches Zayn approach him slowly, fingers wrapped tightly around his lighter, and lets him pull him out into the night air. He doesn’t want to be lonely tonight, doesn’t want to stare into sad blue eyes, doesn’t want to let it consume him. He thinks about taking a drag from Zayn’s cigarette, to let the smoke eat away at the pain in his limbs.

“Have you tried acting normal?”

“What’s that mean?” Harry can see his breath, watches as it breaks against the curls lining his face.

“I mean,” he starts, words muffled as he tries to light his cigarette, “tonight’s the longest he’s lasted, right? ‘Cus everything is more familiar. So have you tried being like, normal? Being familiar with him.”

He used to in the beginning, because he wasn’t really sure how to be otherwise. It was easier anyway, to act like nothing was wrong for a few short minutes. A three-hour show was something completely different, a whole different sort of wave. “I’ve been rejecting him all day.”

Zayn blows out a short puff of smoke before licking his lips and scuffing the cement with his boot. Harry can hear the screaming of the girls on the other side of the tour bus, waiting for when they come back out. Harry knows he will eventually, he always does, but everything is so out of whack that the thought of signing a few notebooks makes his stomach churn.

“I’m sorry.”

Harry’s startled by the apology. “What’s that about?”

Zayn takes another drag on his cigarette, talking around the smoke in his lungs. “I try to understand, I really do. The other boys, you know, they’re like me in the same way. And we do to some extent; it isn’t just you he’s weird around. But you sort of get the shitty side of it don’t you?”

Harry swallows around the nausea sitting on his tongue. “Sort of.”

“We want to help, Harry. Please just tell us what to do. D’you want to stay at mine? Liam’s? Take Louis out? Don’t handle this by yourself, you’re always shit with handling stuff by yourself.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, fingers rubbing at the exhaustion beneath his eyes.

“I’m not good at this.”

“I know, it’s okay.”

Zayn watches the ground for a moment. “Are you and him together?”

Harry groans. “That’s a very complicated question Zayn.”

“I know, I know. Just like, with the pictures and all.”

“We’ve established something, I guess. I don’t know.”

Zayn nods before dropping his cigarette and crushing it beneath the tip of his boot. The screaming is getting restless, and Harry is getting restless, all parts of him aching, so he abandons Zayn with a kiss to the temple and wanders around the side of the tour bus in search of Paul. As soon as he’s spotted it’s chaotic, and Harry suddenly feels light, like the only way he can breathe is when wave after wave after wave pushes him under.

He lets the hundreds of girls drown out the thoughts in his head, numb the abandoned spaces Louis’ left, and he’s out there close to a half hour before Paul pulls him away, cheeks burning. The buses are leaving, and he’s not sure where Louis is. He thinks about texting Zayn and asking, because he needs to find him, is always trying to find him.

When he gets on the bus though Zayn looks up briefly before nodding towards the back room, the door shut and uninviting. Harry and Louis usually get the back room, seeing as they normally sleep with each other, and the other boys weren’t really keen on hearing what went on between them in the late hours of the night. The fact that Louis went there first should be a good sign, it should make Harry less nervous, but it doesn’t really. He licks his lips and knocks once before pushing open the small door, heart thudding in his chest.

It’s pitch black save for the small sliver of moonlight coming in through the window shades. Harry can make out Louis’ shape curled up beneath the covers, beanie pulled over his hair and drowning in one of Harry’s old jumpers. His heart catches in his throat then, at how small he looks, so he quietly shuts the door and starts toeing off his shoes.

Louis shifts a bit on the bed, so Harry knows he’s awake. He hasn’t told him to leave yet, so that’s a good sign he supposes. He slips off his jeans and shirt before feeling around for the mattress, fingers finding the soft duvet before pulling it up and slipping himself under. He doesn’t go to Louis though, just slips his fingers into the soft hairs at the back of his neck, pulling them slightly, massaging out the post-show knots.

“Are you going to stay all the way over there for the rest of the night then?”

Harry blinks up at the ceiling. “I’m just trying to give you some space.”

He feels Louis move then, and when he turns his face to the side his eyes meet with a sharp blue, blurred behind angry tears and a wave of guilt and Harry feels hopeless, so unbelievably sick to his stomach that he immediately shifts forward, arms curling around Louis like a blanket.

“Don’t,” Louis says, voice too high. “I don’t want space.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and he just wishes that he knew what to do, what to say, how to _feel_. He felt everything, too much, too soon, and he needs Louis to just. He doesn’t _know_. “I’m sorry,” he gets out, voice hoarse.

“Do _you_ want space?”

“No,” he breathes out immediately, and as soon as he says those words he feels calmer, almost. “No Lou.”

Louis tightens his hold on Harry’s chest, nails digging into the swallows along his collarbones. “I need you, don’t pull away from me, please. I need you.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says around Louis’s temple, “I’m shit, I’m tired, I’m. I don’t know what I am.” He wishes it were easier than this.

“It’s okay to, you know, need time or space. I know I do a lot of fucked up things and it’s just, you never do.” Louis looks up at him then, breath hot against his lips. “You’re always there waiting for me no matter what, and here I am, throwing a god damn tantrum because you rejected a blow job.”

Harry smiles softly and feels something lift from his chest when Louis smiles back, rolling his eyes and pushing a bit at Harry’s hold. “Lou I know it’s okay, and usually _I’m_ okay. Just maybe not today.”

Louis sighs and lifts his hand to Harry’s cheek, the pressure of his thumb the only calm he’s felt all day. “I’m sorry, love.”

Harry leans forward then and captures his lips with his own, body thrumming. Louis opens up immediately, fingers tightening around Harry’s jawline, legs pushing forward to intertwine with his own. And Harry’s always loved this, how responsive Louis is when it comes to Harry’s touches. He can feel Louis’s tongue trace the creases of his lips, gentle and calming, and as soon as he opens up Louis sighs into his mouth, toes curling into Harry’s ankles.

He pulls Louis closer, his warmth seeping into every inch of Harry’s skin, like the sun, or something brighter.  And it’s like Harry forgets the pieces of him that weren’t there before, thinks maybe Louis has filled up all the gaps again, and he lets himself give in to it because he could wake up in the morning and not remember how it felt to be whole again, how it felt to not blink up into the darkness and think, _is it gone?_

Louis moves so that he’s straddling Harry’s hips, fingers caught in the knots of his hair, tugging every now and again. Harry’s got his hands underneath the jumper, fingertips burning against the heat of Louis’s skin, and Louis is making soft noises in the back of his throat, hips turning in slow circles. Harry’s comfortable this way, letting Louis take control, lips wet and breathy, but then he tugs rather harshly on Harry’s curls and _oh_.

He leans up on his elbow, his other hand sliding down to cup the swell of Louis’s arse before bucking up his hips the same time he pushes down, a soft groan falling into the curve of Louis’s shoulder at the friction. Louis whines against the shell of his ear, hands slipping to the bulge of Harry’s shoulder blades, and when he digs his fingers into the bones there it shoots straight to Harry’s groin.

He sucks against the curve of Louis’s jaw to stifle the moan threatening to break through his lips, teeth biting down hard as Louis grinds down just right, and he has to close his eyes when Louis lets out a sharp cry, fingers slipping down into the elastic of his briefs.

“Yeah,” Louis pants. “Wanna fuck me? Really want you to fuck me.”

Harry’s dick twitches at the thought because he rarely gets to fuck Louis, and he knows he’s doing it on purpose because Harry feels like shit and everything has gone to shit but yeah, he really wants to fuck Louis. It’s been so long since he’s felt him that way, since he’s felt him any way at _all_. Frottage was nice, was simple, easy, _good_ , but no matter how rough or how dirty or how quick sex had been with Louis it had always been real, beautiful, intimate, something that took Harry’s breath away, made him feel connected in ways that the world never let him. He’s not sure how long this will last, how long it’ll feel like nothing ever happened, so he licks his lips and nods, breath heavy.

“Fuck Louis, yeah I want that.”

Louis smirks a bit before pulling back and pulling off his jumper, beanie slipping off with it, and chucking it to the floor. Harry latches onto his chest then, tongue tracing along _It Is What It Is_ , fingers digging into ribcage, because he needs to mark Louis, needs to remember this in the morning.

Louis’s movements stutter a bit when Harry nips gently at his collarbones, breath loud in the darkness of the room, and abruptly shoves Harry back onto the bed, fingers wrapped tightly around his wrists. He leans forward, hips shifting filthily against Harry’s clothed cock, eyelids heavy as Louis bites down on his lip, pulling back with a slow groan.

“Wanna ride you.”

“Lou,” Harry chokes out, breath hitching. Louis just pushes him down harder, lips feather-light against the curve of his chin.

“You have to promise to be quiet for me, love, wouldn’t want the other boys to hear. Gonna be quiet for me? Can you be quiet for me?”

Harry bites down on his lip to stifle the groan clawing at his throat, muscles straining, thighs on fire as Louis reaches down slowly to palm him through his briefs, hard and leaking against the fabric already. He hums in surprise before leaning back up and reaching over to the side dresser and pulling out a bottle of lube, flipping it open with one hand and retracting his grip on Harry’s cock. He whines a little at the loss of contact, only loud enough for them to hear, he knows it, but it doesn’t stop Louis from running a teasing, wet finger along the elastic of his briefs.

Harry bucks up into the touch, desperate, but Louis pulls away at the attempt, tongue flicking out to lick his lips before coating his fingers in lube. He reaches behind him, hips still slow against Harry’s hip, and slips his fingers below the restrictions of his pants, jaw dropping slightly as he makes contact.

Harry watches him, awestruck, hypnotized with the way Louis looks as he plays with himself, eyebrows furrowed, eyes closed, chest flushed, and he’s so beautiful it aches. He sits up, one arm tight around Louis’s waist as his other hand reaches down to join Louis’, fingers intermingling as he urges Louis to go faster, quicker, the tip of Harry’s thumb tracing around the tip of his hole with a pressure strong enough to cause Louis to cry out, sweat pooling around his navel.

He’s up to three fingers now, practically writhing in Harry’s lap, and he’s so gone for this, for Louis. He sucks a bruise into the muscle of his shoulder before pulling his touch away and shoving down Louis’s briefs, mumbling “off, off, get them _off_ ,” into his skin, head on fire, legs on fire, all parts of him on fire. Louis obliges, whining lowly as he retracts his fingers and makes to take off the already soiled fabric, throwing them somewhere near the end of the bed before pulling Harry’s off as well.

As soon as they’re both naked and flushed, panting along the lines of each other’s skin, Louis stops and leans forward, kisses Harry’s swallows like it’s possible they’d break, that he’d break, all parts of them breaking, and then ghosts down to Harry’s cock, swollen against the swell of his stomach.

Harry cries out in shock as Louis takes him all in one go, digs his fingers into Harry’s hips in warning as his fists wrap around the duvet, thighs trembling. Louis bobs slowly, tongue swirling along the head teasingly before he takes him all down again, fringe brushing against the skin of Harry’s abdomen, and _oh god_ it’s almost enough to make him come right there.

“Louis,” he gets out shakily, hips bucking up to meet with his mouth, red and swollen even in the darkness. “Lou I’m gonna – _shit_ – gonna come if you keep doing that.”

Louis hums around him, licking a long stripe along the underside of Harry’s cock before pulling off entirely. He shuffles forward slowly until their hips are aligned again and rests his hands along Harry’s chest. “Good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, and then it’s like the breath is kicked right out of him, all parts of him straining against the feeling of Louis sinking down onto him, head fallen between his shoulders, eyelashes like shadows across his cheekbones, the blunt edges of his fingernails digging into Harry’s tattoos.

He bottoms out immediately – they’re used to this, to each other – and rests there a moment to catch his breath, fringe catching in his eyes.

“So beautiful,” Harry murmurs, pushing it out of the way for him, and he watches the way the corner of Louis’s lips twitch at the compliment.

He swivels his hips experimentally before lifting up and dropping himself back down, sighing with a slight clench of his fingers. Harry works extremely hard on trying not to come too quickly as Louis begins to thrust himself down on his cock, glistening like the fucking _sun_ , the thin rays of light coming in through the window lighting him up against the walls of the room.

He tries to keep quiet, tries to do what Louis told him, teeth biting down so hard on his lip he can taste blood, but Louis is making little noises each time he comes back down, eyes shut like it’s almost too much to bear, like he can’t get enough. He starts to pick up speed as soon as Harry begins to rise his hips off the mattress to meet him, and soon Harry is gripping Louis’s hips like he’s aiming to bruise, mouth dropped open around a soft moan, and it’s obvious Louis is too far gone to even care.

“Harry,” he whines, “Harry – I – _please_ , I need – “

And Harry doesn’t wait for the rest before sitting up and flipping them, driving Louis into the mattress as he reaches forward to grip the windowsill, hips snapping forward because he’s on _fire_ , numb against the feel of the older boy's skin. Louis grips onto his arse, pulling him closer, moaning into the empty air, and Harry wants to watch him come, wants to see him come undone just from this.

He leans forward and catches Louis’s open mouth with his own, breath hot, and Louis can’t even kiss him back properly, mouth opening around a whimper almost every time Harry pushes in. He reaches down between them to grip Louis’s cock tightly, groaning into Louis’s mouth as he bucks into the touch, thighs straining around Harry’s hips.

“Fuck,” he gets out as Harry picks up speed with his hand, changing the angle with his hips and – “ _Yes_ , god Harry, I’m – _shit_ – “

Louis’s back arches as he comes hard, cum whiting the gold of his chest, jaw slack as he lets out a throaty whimper, loud enough to wake the whole bus. Harry thrusts once, twice more before he’s coming too, lights bursting around the corners of his vision at the feeling of Louis clenching and unclenching around him.

He collapses against Louis’s chest, cum sticky between them, but he really can’t find it in himself to care because Louis is drawing lazy circles across his back, panting lightly into the curls plastered to his forehead. After a minute or so he pulls out, wincing at the sensitivity, and falls to the side, chest heaving.

Louis turns and kisses him gently on the temple before getting up and going to the small adjacent bathroom. Harry lets himself close his eyes, body thrumming and exhaustion curling its way along his limbs. He’s happy, he thinks, happier than he remembers being in a while. He hears Louis come back in after a few minutes but he’s too tired to open his eyes, so he just sighs into Louis’ touch and the feel of the cool flannel against his heated skin.

It disappears quicker than he would’ve liked, but then Louis is back at his side, arm thrown across his chest and legs tangled, toes cold against the curve of his calves. His lips move gently across his forehead before settling in his hair, pressing, pressing, always pressing.

“I’m sorry,” Harry hears him whisper after a short moment. “I love you.”

Harry hums because he can’t really get any words out, and turns into his touch.

“You love me,” Louis whispers into his curls, “I know. You love me enough to kill the fear. And it’s not fair of me at all to be so scared of loving you in front of the whole world Harry, not when you deserve to be loved in front of so much more.”

Harry thinks he’s too tired to be having this conversation right now, for Louis to be saying these things. And maybe that’s why he’s saying them now, because he’s not sure how to respond to the thoughts running in Harry’s head, because he doesn’t want to fight.

“I love you,” Louis says again, and it’s the last thing Harry hears before he passes out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this was complete and utter shit, I tried.


	22. Part twenty-two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for being patient about my updates. I just wanted to mention (I suppose this could be considered a trigger so I want to mention it in case) there is a physical dispute - it is physical harm (however unintentional) between two people in a relationship. 
> 
> anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter - I'm trying to cover a large amount of ground within these last three chapters to sum everything up and finish, so bear with it! thank you xxxxx

Harry wakes up with stiff legs and bruises on his thighs. There’s a faint screaming coming from outside, and the rumble of the bus has shut off, leaving behind a white static in Harry’s ears. His right side is pressed up against something warm and soft, and when he snuffles and turns his face further into the pillow he catches the scent of apples.

He feels the warmth next to him vibrate against a low chuckle before there’s hair tickling his face and the press of soft, wet lips against his cheek, his nose, the corner of his eye. He scrunches up his nose, stubble scraping against his skin, and peeks open a bleary eye to find Louis looking back at him, crinkles like valleys.

Harry reaches up tentatively, the pads of his fingers running along them, spreading them out, and Louis’s smile never falters, lips soft against the bridge of his nose.

“You’re still here,” he breathes, because he didn’t expect to wake up and find Louis exactly where he had left him, naked and curled up along Harry’s torso, giving butterfly kisses like breaths.

“We got in pretty early, and I think the rest of the boys went up to the hotel. I didn’t want to wake you though.” He smiles again. “And I wasn’t going to leave you, idiot.”

Harry bites his lip around a slow smile, eyes flickering up to meet with Louis’. “Thanks.”

“’Course love,” he murmurs, fingers coming up to twine with Harry’s. “But we should probably get up soon, don’t want any of the fans outside to suspect.”

Harry’s face falls because no, _no_ , it wasn’t supposed to happen like this, not after last night. He had thought maybe something had changed; something should have changed. Louis notices, sighing heavily and rolling over onto his back before sitting up, arms above his head in a stretch.

“Don’t do that.”

Harry shuts his eyes tight and pulls at the bed sheets. He tries to breathe evenly, tries to catch himself before it starts but of course he can’t, of _course_ he can’t because this is Louis and this is him and Louis and everything is falling through.

“Shit,” Louis mumbles from somewhere above him, because his hands are shaking and no matter how hard he squeezes his eyes shut, no matter how hard he forces himself to breathe, nothing’s changed. Louis makes to wrap his arms around him but Harry doesn’t want that, doesn’t _want_ him to think that’s the only way they can love each other.

“Stop,” he gets out roughly, pushing him away with blurry eyes. “Just don’t.”

Louis pulls back in shock, hands shaking. “What?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t want space when all you’re gonna do in the morning is push me away. Don’t tell me you _need_ me when you leave me a rooms length away from you everywhere we go.”

“That’s how it is, Harry,” Louis gets out incredulously, “that’s how it’s always been – “

“Well maybe I don’t want that anymore.”

Louis stares at him for a moment, lips pursed and eyes tight. “Is this when you try and convince me to come out, then?”

Harry pushes himself off the bed, thighs aching. “God you’re such a fucking twat.”

“Oh please, we’ve been over this a thousand times.”

He ruffles his curls back away from his face before standing and reaching down for his soiled briefs. “I just think it’s silly is all,” he murmurs.

“Of course you do.”

“What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that this isn’t just about _you_ , Haz.”

“No you’re right,” Harry fumes, turning to stare Louis in the face, “it’s not about me, it’s about _us_ , Lou. _Us_.”

Louis stares back, just as hard, expression unwavering. And Harry _hates_ that, hates how easy it is for him to keep everything off his face, hates how easy it is for him to pretend.

“Why can’t you just love me?”

Louis swallows tightly at that before looking away, bedspread crumpled beneath his touch. And that’s not good enough, so Harry leaves, just changes his underwear and pushes back greasy curls with a headband before stepping out into the slight mist. He can hear the screams rise as he makes himself visible, head down and hands in his pockets. Paul is standing near the second tour bus on the other side, ready to take him into the hotel when he hears the door behind him fly open and the sound of heavy footsteps.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Harry turns, eyes wild because what, _what_? Louis is fuming, white shirt clinging to the outlines of his chest as he balls his hands into fists at his sides.

“How fucking _dare_ you – “

Harry lurches forward and pushes against Louis’s chest, cutting off his words desperately. “What the hell are you doing? You really think this is the best time - ?”

Louis shoves him back and whoa, okay, Harry was _not_ expecting that. He stumbles back, only becoming vaguely aware of the fact that the screaming has died down and Paul is cautiously making his way towards them.

“You have been doing this for four years Harry, you don’t get to just change your mind!”

“Change my mind?” Harry gets out. “You think this is a _change of mind_?”

Louis drags his fingers through his hair, pulling slightly at the ends. “You don’t get to just claim things like that, don’t put words in my mouth.”

Harry chokes on his next breath, eyes wild. “That’s entirely the point, _entirely_ the point. God just, fuck, Lou. I’m not having this conversation with you out here.”

He turns to meet with Paul, smiling hesitantly at the fans that have gone rather quiet, hundreds of phones raised in the air, lights flashing and frozen in his peripheral. Paul puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder, body stiff as he begins to lead him towards the entrance of the hotel.

But then Harry is staggering forward, hands pushed into his back, and he turns quickly to find Louis, grip tight in the sleeve of his shirt.

“Don’t, _don’t_ walk away from me.”

“No, we’re _finished_ , Christ! Louis what the fuck are you doing? Go inside, let’s just go inside – “

And then Louis’s fist is colliding with the angle of Harry’s jaw, Paul’s grip on his arm is so tight, too tight, and there’s a ringing in his ears, the fearful screaming of hundreds of teenaged girls like white noise against the static in his head. His vision falls blurry for a moment before he’s stumbling back, fingers rising to meet with his cheek, thumb swiping along his bottom lip to find blood.

Louis is frozen, hands outstretched eyes wide, and then, “shit, _shit_ , Harry – “

Harry pulls himself out of Paul’s grasp, head swimming, before shoving Louis hard up against the side of the second tour bus, hands clasped around his wrists to keep him there. He digs into his skin, but not hard enough to leave bruises; he doesn’t want to remember this, doesn’t want Louis to remember this.

“Don’t,” he breathes out shakily, just quiet enough for them, before inhaling sharply and dragging his eyes way. “Don’t touch me.”

Louis’s breath is coming out so loud, too loud, his eyes swimming. And Harry hates that, hates the fact that he wants to stop it, wants to stop all of this, wants to just drag Louis into his arms and love him like he’s good at. Instead he pulls away, leaves Louis slumped against the tour bus and lets Paul pull him into the hotel. 

 

 

~

 

Harry misses Daisy. He’s sitting in Liam’s hotel room, body cramped between three boys on the couch and face pushed against an icepack, heart hammering. Niall is going on about the game playing on the TV and Zayn keeps throwing glances at Harry like he’s about to fucking _break_ or something and Liam just keeps petting his hair, fingers helping him hold the icepack in place like he can’t do it himself.

It was probably a very, very stupid idea to get a kitten considering they’d just left for tour. He’d asked Nick to look after her while they were gone, and he realizes it probably won’t even matter once he’s back – she’ll have forgotten him, grown into a cat with Nick as her home. He closes his eyes against the sudden rush to his head, chest aching, and ignores the way Zayn and Liam are whispering behind his back around the couch.

He wonders how his life got to this place. Two years ago he never would have imagined something like this – like _this_ , ever; would probably have told anyone off if they’d said so. Louis was his whole life, encompassing every piece and part and moment of him, lives and spaces and memories of him, and it’s like he’s been disappearing slowly from every aspect of Harry that’d grown from rosy cheeks and Isn’t She Lovely. He thinks he probably should have seen it coming.

The problem was that he wasn’t sure how to go on, how to build himself without Louis, and he thinks that’s probably where he went wrong – letting Louis’ love bury him in an all-suffocating sort of way.

“You hungry?”

Harry opens his eyes slowly at the sound of Niall’s voice, looking over to find him with raised eyebrows and a soft smile. He shakes his head and let’s his tongue travel over the swollen cut on his bottom lip before closing his eyes again.

“Come on Haz, it’s breakfast! You can’t skip breakfast. How about a banana? I’ll get you a couple of those.”

Harry wants to laugh but he really can’t find it in him to exert the energy. He feels the couch dip as Niall gets up in search of the telephone so he can order up room service before another body is pressing up against his side, the smell of smoke and aftershave filling his nose. He leans into Zayn slowly, sighs audibly at the way his arms and body and chest open up for him, and lets his fingers fall away from the icepack; Liam won’t let go of it anyway.

Zayn presses his cheek against Harry’s temple, fingers soft against the hem of his t-shirt. “I think you should stay with me tonight.”

Harry’s heart clenches. “Yeah, okay.”

He feels Zayn nod against him, slow and sure. “I love you Haz. I know that this isn’t – it’s not.” He sighs softly. “It’s not what you signed up for.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles. “Never really mattered.”

Zayn kisses his hair, fingers clenching. “Such a big fucking heart. No one in the world deserves a heart like yours.”

“Well that’s motivating.”

He laughs against Harry’s skin before pulling away. “I’m just not sure how to fix this.”

Harry opens his eyes again, stares at the television. “Not sure it was meant to be fixed at all.”

“I wish it were more simple.”

Harry watches Niall come back into view, pressing in again on the other side of Zayn. “So I got us a whole variety of stuff, like a buffet. We’ve got to go see Lou for hair in like an hour I think ‘cus we’ve got that photoshoot, but there’s gonna be eggs and pancakes and pastries – the whole lot. And banana’s, ‘course.”

He smiles slightly, doesn’t let it reach his eyes. “Thanks Nialler.”

Zayn just tugs him in closer.

 

~

 

“What the bloody hell happened to your face?”

Harry watches Lou behind him in the mirror, eyebrows in her hair and hands placed far too roughly on his shoulders. “I got hit in the face with a football.”

“You expect me to believe you play football now?”

Harry sighs, rubs his good cheek. “Please just, make it okay for the pictures all right?”

Lou tousles his hair gently before patting his good cheek. “Of course, love.”

He knows he can tell Lou anything – probably would if there weren’t agents and staff running around his dressing room like it’s such an inconvenience his face isn’t the same baby smooth yet ruggedly handsome image it usually is – “how on _earth_ are you supposed to take place in this photoshoot now? – and Harry really just wants to be back in his bed at home, Daisy curled in against his chest, Louis curled in against his chest, and shit, _shit_.

Harry’s sure videos and pictures of his and Louis’ fight have probably gone viral by now. He knows it’s a bad sign Tesla hasn’t approached him about it, that no one on PR has blown up in his face. It’s good; this is _good_ \- nothing like a heated physical dispute between Louis and Harry to get the relationship rumors packed away.

He just wants things to die down is all, to just let him have some breathing space. He feels that, though, feels like he can’t breathe no matter where he goes. It’s like he gets away from one thing to be buried by another. And he’s tired, _tired_ , so fucking tired of this whole thing; this whole charade. Going on a world stadium tour at what is most possibly the peak of their career while simultaneously hiding a relationship with his bandmate who sometimes goes in and out of lucidity about their romantic involvement was not exactly a twenty-year-olds dream.

“We’ll get you fixed up sweetheart,” Lou says from behind him, hair already looking much better than it did before despite its greasy state. “I’ll have someone come over in makeup to cover up that lip of yours.”

Her face is tight, Harry can tell, and he watches her work intently on his curls without a word – something that was usually quite the opposite. “I know you’re not an idiot,” he gets out quietly.

Lou glances up at him through the mirror before turning back to his hair, hairspray clouding her eyes momentarily. “Doesn’t matter what I am.”

Harry swallows thickly, licking over his lip with a slight wince. “D’you think _I’m_ an idiot?”

She sighs heavily, straightening up to fluff his quiff. “I think you’re both bloody idiots.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “yeah that seems to be the general consensus.”

“Love, there are some things that aren’t meant to be fixed. I can’t speak for you or Louis, can I? But I have been with you lot for four years, so it’s not exactly controversial for me to believe you and Louis have something that isn’t _meant_ to be fixed.”

Harry averts his gaze, shuffles his feet against the floor before rubbing at his eyes. “I’ve no idea what that means.”

Lou leans forward slightly, hands tousled in the curls around his ears, fingers pulling lightly as she answers him. “It’s not a riddle, Harry. Your situation is quite unpredictable, innit? Doesn’t mean that things either of you do aren’t _wrong_ – what Louis did was _wrong_ , you know that don’t you?”

“Yes,” he gets out shakily.

“Just as you probably go over it in your head a million times a day what it is _you_ did wrong in this relationship – where things went wary. You’re both human, all right? And I think maybe you’re both so in love with each other that you forget that a bit.”

Harry thinks she may have a point – he _does_ , he really does forget that they’re just human, with human emotions and human abilities. He forgets that sometimes - thinks of their love as something so superhuman, something so _big_ that it can’t be phased by society, that the choices and decisions they make can’t _possibly_ take those things into account.

Louis was wrong in a lot of aspects about that – he shouldn’t have to fight so hard to keep them secret, shouldn’t have to believe so desperately that there is no one on earth that could love their relationship as much as they did. But Harry was off too, because he saw the good in everyone, _saw_ too much good in the world, and it was hard for him to believe – how could anyone deny them something like that?

But Louis was a realist. He saw things in ways Harry wasn’t really accustomed to seeing. He supposes Louis took on that role right away, that he just grew into it more, not away from whatever Harry thought he was in the beginning – hushed whispers and _I’d marry you Harry_ and _how could anybody not love him?_ – because Harry had been so _young_ , he had been so bloody young and naïve and he honestly and openly believed that who he loved and how he loved would be okay in their newly discovered world.

It wasn’t, not entirely – he sees that now. Louis just knew it the whole time, and he fought to conceal that, fought to keep Harry away from it because fuck, _fuck_ , he loved him so much.

Harry digs his fingers into his thighs, takes a deep breath and stares up at the ceiling because they’ve got a photoshoot in less than twenty and if he cries he’ll hear no end of it to the state of his red and puffy eyes. “Fuck,” he gets out hoarsely.

Lou presses her fingers into his scalp slightly before leaning away and reaching for her comb. “Did you just have a grand realization then?”

“Thank you,” he says.

“Any time,” she smiles back, before turning her attention back into the curls framing his face.

It changes a lot, he thinks, that Louis would continuously fight to protect him like that. But Harry was a grown up now, Harry knew how the world worked – it’s not like management and PR fought to keep it quiet. And he still needed it, needed something more, needed Louis out of this frame of mind that Harry was breakable, that Louis wasn’t coming out for _him_. He’s just not sure how. The Louis that presented himself after the car accident was a subconscious – he _knew_ the dangers but he knew Harry now too, knew the limits.

The Louis that left after the car accident didn’t. And Harry’s not exactly sure what parts of him got lost along the way.

 

~

 

 

It’s 2am when Harry wakes up to the sound of his phone vibrating against the side table, blankets bunched up around his legs, filling the gaps. He buries his face into the pillow briefly before rolling over and yanking it from the wall, eyes still closed as he answers the call.

“’Ello?”

“Hi,” Louis breathes.

Harry shifts slightly in bed, fingers tightening around his pillow. “Hi.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs roughly, like he’s trying not to cry, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what – that wasn’t _me_ , Harry, fuck. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“I know,” Harry says back, eyes squeezed shut. “I know.”

“Please come back,” Louis sighs. “I need you here, I need you. I know you don’t think I need you but I _need_ you Harry. I’m not – I’m not myself without you. I’m not anything.” He’s quiet for a moment, just steady breathing. “I’m not anything.”

Harry’s chest aches.

“We can talk about this, okay? But I can’t sleep without you. Everything is too cold and too empty and it’s just, _fuck_ – “ Louis cuts himself off, voice shaky. And Harry can’t do this, can’t listen to this part of him. He’s not sure what to make of it, what it means, what any of it means really.

Harry stays quiet for a moment, listening to the unsteady breathing on the other end before clearing his throat slowly. “You say that now, but we’re never going to end up talking about it.”

“Yes,” Louis breathes, “we _will_. It’s just not easy, you have to understand that Harry, none of this is easy.”

Harry rubs at his temples. “That’s the point Lou,” he gets out softly. “It shouldn’t have to be hard, not after four years together.”

“This isn’t just about us, though. You know, it’s about the boys and our entire _career_ and frankly everyone else’s careers, the fans – “

“That’s _pathetic_ , Louis.” Harry’s grip on the edge of his pillow tightens; the sound of Zayn’s even breathing next to him calming his nerves. “I’m not a child, yeah? We’ve talked about this before. We’ve talked about this with the _boys_ before.”

“I just need you to understand.”

“Me too,” Harry gets out, throat tight, “me too, I need you to understand too. But you never listen to me, you never listen, and I just need you to _listen_ to me when I say I can’t play this game anymore.”

Louis makes a frustrated noise before exhaling for far too long. “This isn’t a game, love.”

“Then I need you to start _acting_ like it.”

“I love you here, right now, between us. Isn’t that enough?”

Harry’s bottom lip shakes, body tightening, because that was always it, wasn’t it? He remembers _I love you_ , remembers _I’ll never let anybody hurt you_ , remembers _it’s not fair of me at all to be so scared of loving you in front of the whole world Harry, not when you deserve to be loved in front of so much more._

“No,” he chokes, “no, it’s not anymore.”

Louis doesn’t speak after that, breathing ragged and chopped off into pieces and Harry wishes he didn’t like the idea of Louis hurting so much. It’s quiet, the small fan by the window kicking on and buzzing against the edge of the drapes. It’s getting lighter outside, so Harry watches the silver flicker against the corner of his pillow.

“I heard you, you know,” he says softly, fingers running absentmindedly along the creases of the sheets beneath him. “You told me it wasn’t fair of you to be scared of loving me like that, like how you know I want; how I need.”

Louis’ breath is shallow. “Oh.”

“And I.” Harry swallows, swollen lip matching his pulse. “And I need to know why you’d say that. I need to understand why you can’t just – can’t just _do_ what you say.”

He’s quiet on the other end, the slight rustle of sheets the only indicator he’s still on the line. It isn’t until a minute later that he says, “Please, Harry. Just come ho – “

Harry hangs up.

 


	23. Part twenty-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty shit at this whole writing thing.
> 
> IMPORTANT: (hopefully it is much less confusing than I think it is) this chapter bounces back and forth from dates in the past to the present (where we left off last chapter). I put year dates to signify flashbacks - in no way are the flashbacks connected to each other. I wanted them to show the change in Louis and Harry's relationship although I probably failed immensely at that.  
> Also I apologize for my weirdly sensual smut scene.
> 
> ALSO: reminder that not everything is resolved right away.

: Mid 2011:

 

Harry thinks that maybe his whole life was meant just for this one moment, just to see the way Louis’ skin looks illuminated by sunlight streaks and Harry’s fingertips, the way his eyelashes cast shadows upon shadows of his smiles against the curves of the mattress that meet somewhere with Harry’s cheek.

He’s not sure his chest has ever swelled like this before, or his breath ever as sure. It’s a familiar sense, something he’s felt several times in passing, stuck somewhere deep within the remains of a crowd that somehow held Louis’ face against the tide.

“D’you think it’s because I’m supposed to be the charmer? I can’t _help_ that I like everyone I meet.”

Louis smiles softly, blinks against the haze of the morning before reaching out and entwining their fingers together. “You are quite the charmer, love.”

“Yeah but then is that _why_?”

“No, _no_ , I don’t know.” He leans forward slightly to pull Harry in against him, skin warm and beautiful. “They explained it before, how we need to portray something specific to attract more attention, yeah?

“And what, loving you is going to keep us from getting attention?” Harry turns a bit so that their faces are aligned, noses touching in a soft eskimo kiss. “I can’t _help_ it.”

Louis’s eyes flutter shut at that for a moment, a shaky exhale on the tip of his tongue. “One day you won’t have to Harry, I promise.”

Harry smiles wide at that, his lips pressing, pressing, pressing against the corner of Louis’s mouth, the bow of his lip, the start of his chin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, pushing back the curls that fall against Harry’s eyes. “More than anything, I want that. More than anything.”

Shifting back a bit, Harry plays with the edge of his lip, legs pushing to snuggle in against Louis’s thighs. “With kids and everything?”

“ _Harry_.”

“What?”

“You’re so _young_. I’m – we’re only –“

“So?” Harry interrupts, eyebrows downcast. “Doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

Louis sighs. “And how can you be so sure?”

“Because it’s you.” He smiles softly, lets it curve along his lips until those curves are against all the curves of Louis, gentle and all things bright. “I’ve been waiting for you my whole life, ‘m just lucky I got to find you this early on.”

Louis lets his eyes flicker; let’s them wash over every inch of Harry’s face. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Harry’s smiles grows at that, and he sees traces of it in the way Louis smiles back at him, all the pieces of sunshine trapped between the way their lips and eyes look for each other.

“I won’t let anybody hurt you,” he whispers.

 

~

:Present:

 

 

“Harry. _Harry_.”

Harry sort of wishes he were dead. Not really though, just dead enough to get rid of the aching in his chest and the burning in his lip. And it’s bloody cold is what it is, even though the duvet is wrapped up around every inch of his bare skin, the spot next to him cold and absent. It’s not that he doesn’t think he made the wrong choice or anything, but he can’t say he’s not disappointed to find himself alone.

He doesn’t want to get up, not like this, not so _alone_. He curls in on himself before bringing shaking fingers to press against the mess of his jaw. He imagines it like a watercolor, purple and blue and green all bleeding into the lines of his face, bruised layers of smiles and right-sided photo-shoots.

He feels bruised all over though, somewhere deeper than the skin, and he wonders if it’s something that will ever learn to go away.

“ _Harry_.”

“’M up, ‘m up.”

“Doesn’t look like it. Come on, we’re supposed to be in hair and makeup in five.”

He doesn’t want to get up, but he does anyway. His fingers search for his phone on the bedside table as he sits up and rubs at his eyes. There are fourteen missed calls from Louis, a few texts from Lou and Nick, and a notification from his Flow app. He turns off his phone.

 

 

~

:Late 2011:

 

Harry is making lasagna when Louis comes back from the shops, skin dewy and hair damp with the wind. Or technically he’s _trying_ to make lasagna, as it’s been about just over an hour and he hasn’t managed to get it in the oven yet – or experimenting, yes he likes that better. He’s never made lasagna before is the thing, but he wanted to do something nice, wanted to –

He hears the sound of glass shattering accompanied with a shaky inhale before turning around, eyes wide and dirty wooden spoon in hand. Louis’ jaw is slightly agape, arms limp and eyes hooded as his eyes rake over Harry’s naked skin – well almost naked. He’s wearing –

“Are those panties?”

Harry smiles. “D’you like them?”

Louis's eyes narrow. 

Turning back to the task at hand, Harry juts his hip out against the side of the lower counter, smile still curled against his lips at the feel of Louis’ stare. “I’m making lasagna for dinner, is that okay?”

“Ehm, yeah that’s – fine.”

His words are coming out choppy and Harry nods a bit, popping a tomato between his lips. “It’ll be ready soon I think, if I can just _finish_ – “ He’s caught off guard when he feels Louis’s fingers nestle against the skin of his stomach, lips pressing up, up, up the curve of his back. He grips the edge of the counter, lets his head fall between his shoulders at the feel of pressure.

“God,” Louis breathes against the side of his cheek, fingers coming up to pull at the curls on the nape of his neck. “You've any idea what you're doing to me?”

Harry’s head pulls back at the touch, jaw dropping open slightly, and he feels Louis’ pleased exhale against the corner of his jaw, the fingers of his other hand digging deliciously into the lines of his thighs.

“Was thinking about you all day, you know.”

Harry’s eyes flutter shut, breath ragged. “Yeah?” He feels Louis’s teeth graze his pulse point, tender and sensitive.

“Was thinking about how I’d get to fuck you after being out all day, get to put my hands all over you, lay you out on our bed and open you up, make you come just with my fingers.”

Harry moans at that, fingers digging into the granite to keep from touching himself. He can feel Louis hard against him, pressing, pressing, pressing until he feels like he can’t breathe anymore.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you,” he says, pulling harshly on his hair again to expose his throat.

“Lou,” Harry gets out, his name turning more into a whimper than anything else.

“What is it love, what do you want?”

“I – “ Harry gasps as Louis begins sucking against the skin just beneath his jawline, fingers drifting below his waistband.

“Yes,” he breathes, relief flooding through him as he feels Louis’s fingers press against him, move down to cup his now fully hard cock against the lining of his panties, already wet with precome. He moves slowly at first, lips lush and beautiful against the curve of his neck, and Harry thinks it’s quite possible he’ll spontaneously combust with the way Louis is touching him, with the way his fingers knead against the skin of his scalp, pulling just enough to mix pleasure and pain around the haziness of his eyes.

“Wanna fuck you,” Louis murmurs, breath against his ear, “right here, on the counter.”

Harry exhales shakily on a small moan, nodding as much as he’s able. He feels Louis disappear from behind him for a moment before he’s being turned around, hips digging into the lines of the counter, and Louis is looking at him with hooded eyes, lips red from where they’ve been kissing against Harry’s skin, flushed and warm already.

Louis pats at the countertop behind him, gaze steady. “Up.”

Harry obeys quickly, shuffling awkwardly in the small space provided before he lifts himself up and onto the cold surface, pushing the pan full of half-made lasagna and raw vegetables into the corner. Louis is quick to crowd against him, head ducking down so he can suck bruises into the curves of his thighs. Harry pushes his head against the cabinets, breath loud in his ears and fingers itching to touch, to grab, to pull.

He feels it when Louis begins to breathe along the outline of his cock, lips barely touching, and it rips a whine from somewhere in the back of his throat; tremors right through him in the way Louis keeps touching too much and not enough, heat burning along the insides of his thighs.

He looks up at Harry then, fingertips ghosting towards his sides, eyelashes like – “Fuck,” Harry breathes out, sliding his thumb gently along Louis’s bottom lip, “I love you.”

Louis doesn’t even hesitate before rising up from his crouch and consuming Harry’s mouth with his own, lips rough but full of something gentle, intense.

“C’mere,” he murmurs softly, pulling away just enough to get two of his fingers safely in between Harry’s lips.

He sucks with a small hum, eyelids hooded, watching the way Louis keeps his gaze, lips parted and heavy. He pulls back after a minute, fingers sticky and lips wet, and sighs at the way Louis slides them gently underneath the lining of his panties and traces around his rim.

“Gonna make you see stars,” he says softly, breath hot against Harry’s neck, before he pushes both fingers inside.

Harry moans, head dropping back against the cabinets, toes curling into the counter as he shifts for Louis to have better access, fingers long and slow, dragging agonizingly along the tip of his prostate. They move together, the way Harry’s hips shift forward and the way Louis braces his arm against the counter, crowds in against him, takes his breath with feather-light kisses.

His dick is beginning to ache confined behind his underwear, and he shifts uncomfortably as they rub against him, teasing more than anything, not enough. “Lou,” he pants, “need you now, _need_ you –“

“Yeah,” Louis nods, before removing his fingers and stepping away to shed his own clothes. Harry quickly shuffles against the countertop, pulling the panties down and off his legs. His cock is red, aching to be touched, but he just closes his eyes and waits for Louis to crowd back in against him, fist around his own dick, smearing spit and precome. “You sure? You’re good?”

Harry nods shakily, feels the way Louis pulls his hips down a bit, angled just right, and feels all breath and memory leave his body at the way he pushes inside, slow and gentle, fingertips kneading the skin along his hips. He feels so full, so _full_ of Louis, and he can feel fire in all the places they’re touching.

“Breathe love,” Louis murmurs, and Harry sucks in a deep breath when he feels him bottom out, body aching, lungs aching. “Breathe for me.”

And he does, slow and sure, eyelashes stuck together with a wetness he doesn’t remember. “Okay, you can move now.”

He starts off at a steady pace, breath heavy against where his lips pull on Harry’s chest, consuming every inch of him. But Harry is quick to shift his hips back, snaps them almost hungrily, desperate to feel Louis in every inch of him. And Louis is quick to catch on, fingers steady and strong, digging beautifully into the skin of his hips.

Harry reaches up to wrap his fingers around the cabinet handle beside him because he needs to grab _something_ , needs to keep himself anchored here. He feels like with his eyes closed like this he can see them almost perfectly, every inch of them slotted together, connected through moments hiding somewhere along his throat, words stuck in his stomach _waiting_ for this.

He wants to touch, touch, _touch_ , but he wants to come like this, untouched, with Louis’ breath and fingers and hips snapping against the curve of his arse, sweat gathered along the dips of his collarbones.

“Louis, Lou, Lou,” Harry shakes, his name sounding incoherent even to his own ears.

“That’s it,” he whispers, words ghosting along the sheen of his skin, “come for me baby, come on. I love you, I love you Harry, I love you – “

And Harry feels it, feels the way Louis’ “I love you” turns into a flame, hidden somewhere against the remnants of his chest, and he comes with a cry, knuckles white against the cabinet doors, throat tight and head pounding. He feels Louis come inside of him moments later, groan muffled by Harry’s curls, chest tight.

When he can move again, Harry pulls his fingers through Louis’s fringe, feels the way their breath matches and thinks that he wouldn’t mind it like this, wouldn’t mind burning for this.

 

 

~

:Present:

 

Harry thinks it’s incredibly wrong for him to feel this anxious, to feel this _stupid_ , sitting in a makeup chair and watching the door through the mirror, like seeing Louis come in would give him power, would stir the pressure in his lungs.

He’s not ready for when he does come, though, bags under his eyes and hair pushed back underneath a beanie. He’s wearing a sweater, _Harry’s_ sweater for Christ’s sake, and who does he think he even is, doing that? He clenches his fists against the armrests, turns his gaze away when he feels them meet.

“Harry?”

No, _no_ , Harry is not going to cave, not this time, not –

“What _happened_ to you?”

He feels his breath leave him in pieces, feels every last bit of energy drain from every last bit of him. Louis approaches him quickly, eyes worried and fingers reaching, grabbing, wrapping themselves around Harry’s sleeves.

“Oh my god,” he says, eyes flickering, “did we get drunk or something? Do I not remember this happening to you?”

“Lou,” Zayn says from behind Harry, “let’s just leave him, yeah?”

“Leave him? You’re joking right? You’ve seen his face?”

“ _Yes_ , and we took care of it last night. Just, come on, yeah? Go get your hair done, we can all chat later.”

Louis bites his bottom lip gently as he nods in agreement before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s temple. He flinches on instinct, taken off guard, and he can see the worry and hurt flash along Louis’s face almost instantly – and god what, _what_ , is wrong with him?

“Come on,” Zayn murmurs, hand wrapping around his bicep to pull him towards where Lou is working on Liam in the adjoining room.

Harry watches him go through the reflection in the mirror, and when he finally fades from view he feels exhaustion creep against his bones, feels it pull away from all the ways seeing Louis back from lucidity drains the numbness from his chest.

 

~

:Late 2011/Early 2012:

 

The water’s run cold but Harry can’t really bring himself to care. His hips ache from where they’re pressed uncomfortably into the porcelain floor and his knees are cramped from where they’ve been curled up against his chest, water from the shower hitting the same spot on the back of his head to the point of numbness.

He can’t stop shaking, can’t stop counting the speckles on the shower tiles, can’t stop rubbing his wrinkled fingers over the knobs of his knees again and again and _again_ like if he does it enough he’ll just disappear because what did he do _wrong_?

It’s probably his fault, having searched it out, but it still doesn’t help the fact that he’s here now, freezing to death under ice-cold water without the energy to stand up. Was he really that awful a person? Was being who he was – who he had to _hide_ – such a disgusting thing? Where’d he go so wrong, to make people believe he deserved to be slurred like that?

He hears it when Louis comes home, his voice booming above the run of the water, calling for Harry in the other room. He shuts his eyes then, tries to inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, _breathe_. He’s got wrinkles in his fingers, wrinkles in his knees, wrinkles weighing down the tilt of his eyes, his mouth, and he doesn’t know how to stop it when the wetness spills over.

Louis’ voice is closer now, undoubtedly confused as to why Harry hasn’t turned up yet, but only moments later there’s a small knock on the door before the knob twists open and Louis’s beaming face is searching out for him in the water fogged room.

“Hazza?” He laughs softly as he walks over to the shower door, fingers prying it open gently, “What are you-?” His face falls immediately at the sight before him, lips shaking. “Oh love.”

Harry doesn’t know what to do but look back.

“Come on,” he murmurs, “let’s get you out of here.” He reaches in to help him up, wincing at the coldness of the water – he doesn’t say anything about it – and let’s Harry hang onto him, shiver ridden body dripping water onto the floor, seeping into his clothes, but Louis just reaches for the towel on the rack and wraps him up tightly before pulling him in, lips soft against his sopping curls.

Harry wishes that he could say something, could _cry_ even, but everything is dark and silent and wrong. Louis rubs his arms up and down Harry’s sides, breath like an anchor, calming him enough to nuzzle in against the openness of Louis’s throat.

“How long were you in there for?”

Harry doesn’t know, he doesn’t know. “I don’t know,” he croaks.

Louis just nods and pulls back, worry etched into every line of his face, and Harry hates that, _hates_ that he’s so worried all the time, about him, about them.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers.

Louis’s eyebrows furrow, a soft sigh falling between them, pressing against all their damaged skin. “Don’t invalidate me Harry, don’t do that. I love you, don’t do that, please.”

“Sorry,” he gets out, “sorry I’m just – “

“I know.” Louis reaches over to get Harry’s robe from the hanger, pulling slightly at the edge of the towel until Harry lets it drop. He helps Harry inside its warmth before pushing the towel back into his hair, messing away the water there. When he’s finished he leaves it wrapped around Harry’s curls, lips light against the hollowness of his cheek. “Let’s get into bed, yeah? I’ll make us some tea.”

He lets Louis lead him there, body cramped and exhausted as he slides underneath the covers. Louis leans down and kisses him then, long and lingering, thumb soft against his jawline, before leaving to go start the hot water.

Left alone again, Harry wishes he could turn out the lights. He feels so exposed, too vulnerable, their room so _big_ , too big to fit only two people. He lets his eyes wash over the spaces they occupy, warm and open and beautiful and everything smells like him, like Louis, smells like the way he breathes at night, like how they tangle together and how, _how_ , can anyone hate that?

How can anyone hate the way Louis looks at him, full of inevitable crinkles and smiles, curved lips all curved around Harry, the way he breathes even just for him, how their pulses match in the darkness at night. Was that wrong? Was the way Louis loved him _wrong_?

He hears the kettle go off in the kitchen and closes his eyes again, buries his nose into the pillow and pulls the duvet up over his face, towel slipping from around his head. He wishes he could turn out the lights.

Louis comes back in a few minutes later, and Harry can hear him set the tea mugs on their side table before he clambers into bed, right under the covers next to Harry. He pulls it over his face as well so that they can meet, a tangle of limbs underneath the weight of their breath.

“Harry,” Louis whispers, fingers coming to push the still wet curls from his forehead, “please look at me.”

He opens his eyes to meet with blue before reaching up with his pruned fingers to pick at the collar of Louis’ shirt, gaze following.

“Please tell me what’s got you like this, tell me what I can do to make you okay.”

Harry’s silent for a moment. “I don’t get how people can say those things about me when they don’t even _know_ me.”

Louis’s body sort of deflates a bit at that, his arms tighter. “Oh.”

“I mean am I really that bad? Is that really what people think of me?” He pauses for a beat. “Of us?”

Louis’ intake of breath is too sharp. “What?”

Harry closes his eyes again. “They called me a faggot, they said we were – that I – “

“Oh _sunshine_ ,” Louis breathes, before his lips touch against Harry’s, so open, breathing the air back into his lungs. “I love you. No one can take that away. There is nothing wrong with you, with us, with – “ He sighs, their foreheads pressed together. “You’re right you know, they _don’t_ know you, they’ve no right to say those things.”

“They all think I’m shit,” Harry gets out, “and how do I know they’re not right?”

“Because I know you’re not.”

And it’s sort of strange, Harry thinks, how that simple sentence makes him feel lighter, _okay_. Because Louis knows him, every dip and curve of his skin, every inhale of breath, and how could those words touch him when he’s loved so fiercely like this?

“Does that make you shit too?”

Louis cracks a small smile, drops a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “As long as we’re together.”

“Do you think maybe it’ll help? Being together?” Harry chews on his bottom lip nervously because this is the first time they’ve even really _mentioned_ it, this alternative, since their contract started – since Eleanor started. “Out there?”

Louis looks down at something between them. “You understand right? Why we can’t.”

“No, I mean – “

“It’ll never stop, love.” Louis leans forward then to touch their noses together, fingers pushing Harry’s hair behind his ear in a steady rhythm. “It’ll just get worse.”

 _It’ll just get worse_.

Harry closes his eyes at that, breath uneven. “ _Why_?”

Louis is quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he murmurs in response. “But I am never going to let anybody hurt you, okay?” His lips press, press, press, beautiful along the corner of Harry’s mouth. “I’ll never let anybody hurt you.”

 

 

~

:Present:

 

Louis is overwhelmed, Harry can feel it. He wants to help, wants to wrap him up, tell him it’ll be okay, but he can’t. Despite his change in lucidity, Harry can’t change yesterday and he can’t change the anxiety burning inside of him.

He keeps bouncing on his feet, fingers wrapped too tightly around his microphone, and he watches from his peripheral at the way he keeps glancing over at Harry, like he doesn’t understand the distance, this distance, any of the distance that’s seemed to push between them from last night to this morning.

Harry wishes that he could explain, wishes that he could help Louis understand. But how do you tell someone that – that they’re two different people sometimes, that sometimes he remembers and sometimes he forgets, that sometimes he loves Harry so much, too much, and sometimes he hurts him, bruises the side of his face with an anger that took years to come out.

“You should talk to him,” Niall says quietly from beside him, mouth tilted down.

“You know I can’t do that,” he answers, pushing back his hair with tired fingers. “It wouldn’t be right to either of us.”

“He loves you Harry, he didn’t mean – “

“But he still did it, yeah?” He turns to look at Niall then, frustration seeping into his bones. “Doesn’t matter how much he cares, Niall, if he won’t _show_ it.”

Niall sighs, fiddling with the hem of his tank top. “He spent a lot of energy on you in the beginning, you know? He took care of you a lot. I think maybe all of this sort of made him forget what that was like – what it meant to take care of you.”

“That’s different,” Harry says softly, “I don’t need him to protect me anymore, I just.”

“That’s who he is though, Haz. How do you expect him to grow out of that? How do you expect him to quite protecting that sixteen year old boy he met on x-factor?”

“But that’s not him! Niall that’s not the same Louis – “

“No, he’s not. He’s a confused as fuck Louis because yesterday he woke up in your arms and all day you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder. This is all real shit, and I don’t feel it as hard as you do, but you need to _figure this out_ before it becomes routine.”

Harry fish mouths for a moment before Niall shrugs, pats him on the back, and heads over to his platform. He turns to look at where Louis is disappearing to his as well, their countdown imminent, and feels the heaviness in his chest spread.

 

~

:Mid/Late 2012:

 

It’s 2am and Louis isn’t home yet. Harry thinks it’s probably pathetic that he’s up this late, waiting, curled up in front of the television with a mug of tea. It’s just that he can’t sleep, can’t do anything really, knowing he’s out there with her despite the fact that he agreed to be done by eleven.

He thinks about closing his eyes, just for a little bit, but he doesn’t want to miss seeing Louis come in, doesn’t want him to have to coax Harry awake and carry him to bed again. So he pushes through the exhaustion and switches to some CSI rerun, gaze flickering to the time at the corner of the screen every few minutes.

It’s 2:48am when Louis finally walks in, and Harry thinks he may be close to passing out. As soon as Louis sees him on the couch he’s shaking his head, fingers clumsy as they take off his jacket.

“What are you still doing up?”

They’d had rehearsals all day but Harry had stayed up anyway. “I wanted to see you.”

Louis opens his arms in a wide gesture before saying, “well, now that you’ve seen me, can I go to bed?”

Harry flicks off the television, the soft light from the lamp in the corner illuminating everything in a pale orange. “I thought you’d be home earlier. You said – “

Louis sighs, toeing off his shoes and making his way into the kitchen. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Harry gets up to follow him, neck aching. “Why do you do that?”

“Do _what_?”

He sighs. “That. Act like I’m the one who did something wrong even though I waited up for you all night.”

Louis braces himself against the counter as he reaches up to get a glass from the cabinet. “No one asked you to wait up for me, Harry.”

He’s quiet for a moment, listens to the steady hum of water as Louis fills up his glass. “Are you angry with me?”

“No, _no_.” Louis sighs heavily. “I’m just tired is all, okay?”

“Okay so then why do you spend all that extra time out with her? I barely get to see you in private anymore, and it’s like you don’t even care, like you’d rather stay out with the girl pretending to be your girlfriend than come home to me.”

“Don’t.” Louis pushes past him, glass of water in hand, and heads down the hall towards their bedroom. “I’m too tired for this right now.”

Harry follows. “So when then?”

“I don’t know Haz, maybe when we don’t have to be up at five in the morning?”

Harry pauses in the doorway to their room, pulse heavy. He watches Louis set the cup by his bed before stripping and diving under the covers, face hitting the pillow with a small “oomph”. He finds his legs again after a moment and strides quickly over to the bed, grabbing two of his pillows and the small blanket spread along the bottom of their mattress. Louis lifts himself up at that, eyebrows furrowed.

“What are you doing?”

“I think I’m going to sleep on the couch tonight.”

He sighs. “Don’t _do_ that.”

“Then tell me why.” He stops, pillows hanging from the tips of his fingers and the blanket wrapped along his shoulders. “I want to know why you’d stay out all night with her.”

“It’s business.”

“Right.” He starts off for the doorway again.

“Harry! Where’s all this even coming from?”

He turns on his heels then, chest constricting. “When is this going to be over, Lou? When is it going to be me out there with you?”

Louis flops back down on the pillows, his groan too loud in their quiet room. “We’ve talked about this, yeah? It doesn’t work like that, like how you think. And you know it’ll just get worse – “

“’It’ll just get worse! It’ll just get worse!’ Stop saying that, stop, stop!” Harry can’t breathe. “Is this all there _is_ , then?”

Louis looks up at him, fingers knotted in his fringe. “All there is? All there _is_? Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Is this what my life is going to be like? In five, ten years? Sitting at home alone at two in the fucking morning _waiting_ for you?”

“What? You wouldn’t wait for me?” Louis fumes.

“Of course I’d wait for you,” Harry gets out, “that’s the _point_.”

“Okay,” Louis says, “so then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that I have to sit here by myself, in this _home_ that we’ve made with each other, and wait for you to come home from spending time with a girl that covers us up. The problem is that I’m _alone_ , and then when you finally do come back you won’t even _talk_ to me. I don’t want to hide this Louis, I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Louis blinks at him. “You think we’d still have all this if we were to come out? You don’t _get it_.”

_As long as we’re together._

“I’m going to bed. Sleep on the couch, do whatever you want.”

Harry watches him pull the duvet around him, lights out, and wonders which parts of him Louis took this time.

 

~

:Present:

 

 

Harry can’t sleep. Zayn keeps shifting around in the bed, covers pulling, and the light coming in through the curtains is too bright. He wishes that he knew what to do, how to solve whatever it was that was going on between him and Louis. He’s wanted to call Jay for a while now but how could anyone give advice for this, for something like them?

His phone buzzes from where it’s laying on the bedside table, and he reaches over to grab it. He’s got one new message from Louis.

_-Hey._

Harry’s chest aches. _It’s not your fault_ , he wants to say, _I’m sorry, I still love you._

**_-Hi._ **

Louis responds almost instantly.

_-Did I do something wrong?_

_- **There’s a lot going on that you don’t know about.**_

_-I’m just unsure where we are, with this whole thing._

Harry sighs, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath.

**_-Sometimes you remember._ **

Louis’ response takes much longer this time, and Harry wonders if maybe he’s fallen asleep, how _stupid_ Harry would seem –

_-I think I’d remember that._

He’s thinking about what to say, how to explain this, when his phone alerts him of another message.

_-Can I come over?_

Harry wants to say yes more than anything, and he fucking hates that, hates that he can’t ever say no when it comes to Louis.

**-Can’t, Zayn is sleeping.**

_-Hallway then?_

_-Please?_

If he doesn’t do it now he doesn’t think he ever will. Sending a confirmation to meet in five minutes, he stretches himself out of bed and heads toward the bathroom, picking up his pants and a spare t-shirt from the suitcase propped beside the television.

After the door is shut he flips on the light, grimacing at the brightness before splashing his face with warm water. He looks tired beyond doubt, his reflection pale and void, eyes hooded and lips puffy from where he’s been biting, pulling, anything to ignore the ticks that he feels in his fingers every time Louis stands too close.

He ignores it though, just slips on his clothes and steps back out, swiping the keycard from their dresser on his way through. Louis is nowhere to be seen, so he braces himself back against the wall and slides down, the carpet uncomfortable beneath him. Closing his eyes against the harsh light, he wonders what would have happened, had Louis not gotten hit by the car – had he gone back inside instead, left Harry to go stay with Liam for a bit. He wonders if they could have talked it out, like every time before that.

“Hey.”

His eyes snap open at the sound of Louis’s voice, a soft smile curving against his lips at the sight of his bedhead and tired eyes. “Hi.”

Louis smiles back, gentle, before seating himself opposite Harry, legs spread out so that their feet barely touch.

“I’m sorry I threw that on you.”

Louis shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m just not entirely sure what you mean.”

Harry leans his head back against the wall, his fingers fidgeting against the seam of his jeans. “Sometimes you’re lucid. Not entirely, though – you can’t remember the accident. It’s more like the accident never happened.”

“That’s.” Louis sucks in a deep breath. “Okay.”

Harry lets him breathe for a minute, watches his feet flex, reaching.

“How does that work? How do I still come back? Is that a good sign?”

“I don’t know,” Harry murmurs,  “I’m just as clueless as you about the whole thing to be honest.”

“How long?” Louis asks.

“A while.”

Louis licks his lips, fingers digging into his knees. “So then we’re – I mean.”

He touches their toes. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Why?”

Harry sucks in a deep breath, tries to calm the beating in his chest as Louis touches back. “There are parts of you that are different, and sometimes I’m not really sure how to handle it all. Niall told me I should tell you and I’m sorry that I didn’t before. I’m sorry.”

Louis seems hesitant. “Different how?”

“Sometimes you scare me – sometimes I’m scared by _us_. Sometimes I’m not sure how much longer I can go not having this conversation, about being together, about being out.” He closes his eyes. “And sometimes it feels like before management and the fans got to us. You aren’t afraid to touch me, to love me. You say things like ‘sure I’m scared but I’m not angry’ and you’ve never said those things Lou, you’ve never talked about coming out as anything more than ‘it gets worse’.”

Louis looks a bit overwhelmed and Harry instantly hates himself. “Fuck I’m sorry, that was – “

“Please don’t. It’s okay, it’s just a lot to take in.” He touches their toes again and Harry feels relief flood over him. “I don’t remember who I was before this, or who I was with you. But regardless we’re still the same person, Harry. There’s still that same sort of darkness in me, here, right now, and there’s still this same sort of rebirth in me, when I’m lucid. I think maybe time wasn’t on our side, that maybe I wasn’t in the right place when we met. But we’ve met now, again, and this feeling I have isn’t _sheltered_.” He scoots forward, ankles knocking. “I don’t want to shelter you.”

Harry’s throat feels tight, eyes burning, and he’s not exactly sure what to say. “You didn’t want to be out with me.”

“I never said that.”

“You have.”

Louis sighs. “I’m not saying it now.”

“That’s the point though,” Harry mutters, “that’s just it. You both may be there together but you’re still so different. And I don’t know how to _deal_ with that, I’m sorry. Fuck.”

Louis pushes his hair back from his face, eyes trained on the ceiling. “But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Harry swallows.

“And I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will.”

“Harry.” Louis looks at him then. “I don’t know how to stop this lucidity thing, okay? I don’t know how to find my way back, or – “ His fingers dig into the carpet.  “I’m sorry.”

“I love you,” Harry gets out, “I don’t want you to say you’re sorry, I love you.”

Louis turns to look at all the places they touch, every space and in-between. “How do I fix this?”

Harry shakes his head. “I just need time. I just need – I don’t know.” _You_.

“Okay sunshine.”

Harry’s heart aches, throat tightening, breathing in all of the places that they are. “Did you mean it before? That you would have come out with me?”

Louis doesn’t even hesitate. “Of course, Harry.”

“You’re not just saying that? Because sometimes you would, sometimes, and I – “

“I would follow you anywhere,” Louis interrupts softly, and Harry thinks this is it, all fire and flame and heat, “I would do anything for you.”


	24. Part twenty-four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember the good ol' days when I used to update every day? yeah. 
> 
> only two more chapters left! can't believe it's ending so soon - but the good news is I've got a wonderful oneshot in the works currently to post when this guy is finished (:
> 
> thank you for the kudos/comments/reading xxxx

Louis has been really good about the whole space thing, which Harry _knows_ he should be happy about. But the thing is that he’s never really been good with space. Now that he’s got it, he’s not entirely sure what to do with it. He thinks his head hurts less now, but he’s still aching, and all he really wants is to fix whatever is going on – fix _this_.

Louis seems on edge too, and Harry sort of blames himself for that. It’s like every minute he’s worrying about whether or not he’s become momentarily lucid without knowing – keeps asking the boys questions to ground himself. And he hasn’t, is the thing. Become momentarily lucid again.

It makes him nervous somewhat – like even if they’re angry and fighting and broken he’s still _there_ , somewhere. He hasn’t gone away – that maybe he’ll eventually come back. It’s always been that way really, because even though Harry’s never known what getting on without Louis felt like, there’s a tightness in his chest and a sickness to his stomach when he thinks about leaving for good.

And that’s not what he wanted anyway – _this_ , this was never something he’d wanted. He’d never meant to get this lost, to get this far away. He’d never meant to fuck it up so bad.

He calls Nick three weeks into the tour, half asleep and needing somebody, anybody, to blanket him with a conversation that didn’t involve _LouisLouisLouis_. He asks him about the show, about Daisy – “You realize she’s not yet been trained in using the litter box?” – and about how everyone else is doing, wondering when they’ll find time to come meet up with him on tour. He feels too far away this time even though they’re not, not really. He’s staring at where the curtains shadow the window of his hotel room, rustling every now and again with the breeze, blinding Harry with glimpses of a white sun so bright it blurs the rest of the world away.

He can’t breathe when it happens, can’t blink.

_“One day the sun is going to get too big for us,” Louis whispers, breath tickling the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck._

_Harry smiles from where he’s sitting on the edge of the pool, legs dangling beneath the cool water, eyelashes cutting away bits and pieces of the sunset and showing up like white dots when he closes his eyes. “I don’t think that’s possible,” he murmurs softly as Louis settles down beside him, fringe still damp from their swim earlier that night._

_“Sure it is curly. Why do you think it’s been getting so hot lately?”_

_Harry snorts. “Summer, global warming. A thousand reasons, really.”_

_Louis smiles over at him, but it’s softer this time. There’s something hidden against the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, at the way his fingers rest along the jut of his shins, knees pulled up to his chest, in how he rests his cheek there, the sunset pushing, pushing, pushing against his back, lighting up his skin into a thousand shades of orange._

_"One day,” he whispers again, breath mingling with the nearly stagnant breeze, hair ruffling into the tilt of his eyes. “We’ll go too far – come too close. We’ll forget how it burns us in the summer time and how it leaves us in the winter. We’ll just keep revolving closer, closer, always closer.” He stares at Harry for a moment, gaze traveling the curve of his lips before taking a long, exhaling breath. It makes Harry’s fingertips warm. “Don’t forget me when it gets too big for us, all right?”_

_Remembering to breathe, Harry nods slowly and watches the way the colors spread out along Louis’ face, his arms, the tips of his ears. “Never.”_

“Harry? Hello? Have you gone and fallen asleep on me then? I’d like to remind you that _you’re_ the one who rang _me_ – “

Harry blinks. “No, no yeah. I’m here.”

He hears Nick huff out a short laugh on the other end. “Right. Look, is everything all right with you? Are you dealing okay?”

Harry’s lips twitch up a bit at that. “What makes you think otherwise?”

“Bloody ha-ha. Come on kiddo, I’m desperate. You sound off.”

He hums slowly at that, closing his eyes and letting the light paint the backs of his eyelids a hazy pink. “’S what it is, I guess.”

There’s silence on the other end after that, and Harry wonders momentarily if Nick’s hung up, or fallen asleep, or if maybe he can’t find a way to respond. Then he hears a short, snuffling laugh, muffled somewhat by the crackling of Harry’s phone speakers.

“And here I was,” he starts of slowly, “pegging _Louis_ for the coward.”

There was that word again. _Coward_. Harry feels his skin prickle with heat. “I’m not – “

“I’m not calling you anything,” Nick interrupts with a sigh, “I’m not calling you anything. But you’ve got to realize Harry – this is on you too. You can’t just say stuff like that. You can’t just say ‘it is what it is’ like what you do and say has no influence over what’s happened.”

Harry swallows thickly, lips pressed painfully tight together. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“How am I supposed to? How is anyone supposed to? Doesn’t give you permission to be an arsehole. I hate to say it and everything, but the bastard bloody fucking _loves you_.”

“I know,” he answers quietly.

“Then get your head out of your arse, yeah?”

Harry opens his eyes, glances back into the sun. “Will you come up tonight? Come meet me?”

“Sure,” Nick affirms. “Of course I will.”

After he hangs up, Harry gets up to take a shower. He lets the water rush over him, lets the steam line the walls of his lungs, making his breath frequent and shallow; making him work for it. He buries his fingers into the mess of his curls and shuts his eyes, like maybe if he wished hard enough he could start over – start this whole thing over. He doesn’t know how to fix it and that _scares_ him. What if he can’t fix it?

They’d done it before, all the time – it’d happened more after they’d started becoming too entangled in their own lies. He remembers the way the words had felt climbing up his throat, the way they’d tasted on his tongue – _“So what, are you in love_ _with her?”_ – remembers the way his skin had felt hot, too hot, when Louis would look at him, lips tight with disgust, the way he’d forgotten how to breathe – _“So what if I am?”_ – And god, _god_ , it’s not like they’d ever meant anything. They fought to feel, to dig themselves out of this desperation that had somehow clung to them, open and _jealous_. He wants to go back now, wants to go back every time and say his words again, better this time. Wants to tell Louis that Eleanor never mattered, wants to tell him that nights alone waiting never mattered, that coming out never mattered.

_“You’re very brave,” Louis whispers to him, faces pushed closely together, heads sharing a pillow. The sounds of the other boys sleeping, scattered along the floor of the bungalow, washes over them, pleasantly calm against the silence of the darkness._

_“’M not,” he whispers back. But he can’t help the small smile peeking through at the compliment. He always smiled at Louis, didn’t really see any reason not to. “Doesn’t really matter how brave someone is anyway.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“It’s not very fair, I don’t think. Bravery comes in a lot of different forms, and like, we only see people as brave when they stand up and speak out? I mean there are lots of different stages, I guess.”_

_Louis hums at that, shuffling around a bit underneath the covers until his knee is pressed up somewhere along Harry’s hip. “Like what?”_

_“Like climbing a tall tree for the first time, or keeping quiet when someone tells you a secret.” He licks his lips in thought, smiling slightly when he sees Louis’ gaze drop to watch. “Like telling the first boy I ever liked that I wanted to hold his hand. Like telling myself that I wanted to hold his hand.”_

_Louis flushes at that, but Harry doesn’t say anything._

_“Being brave is different for everyone, Lou. ‘S not fair for us to tell someone what they are or aren’t. It’s okay if they’re not brave now ‘cause it doesn’t mean they won’t be later. And just ‘cause they’re brave now doesn’t mean they will be later.”_

_He leans forward then, slowly, in case their closeness was crossing a line. But just as quickly he feels his lips press along the crease of Louis’ cheek, warm and pillow soft, his skin smelling dangerously close to the sun. “Not everyone’s got to be brave just yet.”_

_Louis’ fingers come up to thread themselves along Harry’s curls, brushing against his scalp like a reassurance, breath short like he can’t breathe with Harry near, like when they get too close there’s no point in breathing anyway. Harry feels heat coil along his lower abdomen, toes curling, and relaxes into Louis’ touch, his lips still pressed softly to his cheek, moving, mouthing. “It’s okay.”_

Harry doesn’t even realize he’s got a hand on himself until he’s coming, the memory of him and Louis on the floor of the bungalow blurring into a white haze as he cries out, fingers gripping desperately to the wet tiled wall, damp curls hanging like a curtain in front of his eyes.

 

~

 

“So what’s on everyone’s plates for tonight?”

Harry watches Louis from where he’s sitting next to Zayn, feet propped up on the edge of their table. He’s eating a bag of crisps and mumbling about something under his breath, toes twitching to the sound of their opener doing soundcheck.

They’ve got two nights here, and usually Harry would have a quiet night in – get some rest and maybe a nice cuddle before drifting off – but Nick’s promised to come tonight, and him and Louis are. Well.

“Think I’m just going to sleep, mate,” Zayn laughs, ignoring the way Liam pouts back at him. “It’s the beginning of the tour, we’ve got plenty of time to do stuff.”

“Yeah, like sleeping. Come _on_. “

“I’m agreeing with Zayn on this one,” Niall pipes up from where he’s draped across Harry’s lap. “Like, you know I love a good party and all that, but I’ve still yet to get back into the groove of things. I’m knackered, Payno.”

Liam groans before looking up at Harry with wide, doe eyes. “Haz?”

“Nick’s coming up tonight, actually.”

Louis freezes, crisp halfway to his mouth, before dropping it back into the bag and standing up abruptly, eyes dark as he leaves the room. Harry feels heat climb along his insides, feels that spark in his chest, that _hope_ –

“What the fuck?” Niall mutters just as Zayn turns to look at him.

Harry’s breath is harsh. “Was it the name?”

Zayn raises his eyebrows before rubbing at the scruff along his jawline. “Said he’s been feeling off for a bit, but I didn’t really think that much of it. I mean he’s been fine for like a while now, so.”

“Yeah,” Harry gets out. “Fuck, what if he thinks -?”

“You know him, Harry. Doesn’t really matter.”

He makes to stand up. “I should go talk to him.”

“God, _no_.” Zayn laughs incredulously. “You two were never good at giving each other space, were you? Let him cool off alone.”

But Harry doesn’t want him to be alone, doesn’t want to _be_ alone. He knows Zayn is right though; they were never good at giving each other space. Maybe that’s why it got so bad. Maybe that’s why Harry being friends with Nick made it worse.

“Look, I’ll go get him.” Niall sighs and lifts himself off Harry, leaning back to pop his back. “We’ve got to be in hair and makeup anyway. Get ready boys, going t’ be the gig of our lives!”

Harry smiles back as much as he can.

 

~

 

The first thing Nick says when Harry opens the door is, “What on god’s green earth happened to your face?”

Harry backtracks into his room, leaning across the bed to grab his shirt before sitting down and pulling on his shoes. “Louis punched me.”

Nick looks startled for a moment. “You’re joking?”

“Why would that be funny?”

“God Harry, why didn’t you _say_ anything? On the phone, or. _Christ_.”

Harry closes his eyes and shakes his head, leaning forward to run a hand through his hair. “Stop it, please. I’ve already spent enough time freaking out, I really don’t need you to do it either.”

He feels the bed dip slightly as Nick takes a seat next to him, hand coming to rub at the back of Harry’s neck. “Okay,” he says softly, “I can understand that. Have you talked? Or, I guess.”

“No,” Harry gets out hoarsely, “we haven’t. He hasn’t been, you know.” He licks his lips, taking a deep breath and straightening up again. “But he is now, I think. Had a right fit after I mentioned you and I were going out tonight.”

Nick snorts. “Sounds like him.”

“Yeah, well. I just don’t know how long it will last this time. I don’t know how long any of it will last.”

Nick squeezes his neck once before dropping his hand and patting his knee, pushing himself up and off the bed. “Then I s’pose it’s a good thing we’re going out then, yeah? Get your mind off it.”

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, before pushing himself up and following Nick out the door.

 

~

 

Harry is drunk. Harry is very drunk. He can feel Nick against his back, can feel the beat vibrate along his pulse, and it feels good, it feels better. He’s dizzy, but he ignores it, throat sticky with alcohol and mouth tasting like bad lemonade. He never should have let Nick talk him into drinking those cocktails.

He’s surrounded by heat and sweat, skin pulsing, bruises numbed and limbs loose.

_So much pressure_

_So much heat_

Harry trusts his security to keep him hidden when he presses back against Nick, ignoring how it’s not the right height, not the right press and pull, not the right movement.

_So much hustle_

_They want me_

He lets Nick wrap him up, lets his hands spread along the breadth of his waist, lets him take. He leans his head back to rest against Nick’s shoulder, throat exposed, and focuses on the way his breath finds the skin there, erratic.

_Come around_

_Feel the sound_

_Oh you make my heart pound_

He thinks maybe he’d like another shot, or maybe to go home, he doesn’t know. He’s really very drunk, and the ceiling is starting to shake, knees starting to shake, and god Harry is so fucked up, everything’s fucked up. Louis had hit him; god Louis had _hit him_ –

“What the fuck are you doing?”

_Fill me up_

_Bring me down_

_When I hear your sound_

Harry would know that voice anywhere. His hands move to push Nick away sloppily, but it just comes across as tired, and he forces himself to lean upright just as Louis turns to look at him. His skin is all alight beneath the flashing lights, blue and purple and green, like a watercolor. Harry thinks he probably looks very beautiful right now, and he’d like to tell him, but instead what comes out of his mouth is,

“What the fuck are _you_ doing?” And okay, not his best.

“I’m.” Louis blinks for a minute before turning and pushing Nick, fingers catching on the hem of Harry’s shirt and causing him to stumble back a few steps. “Get the fuck away from him. I’ve _had_ it with you.”

“How about you just calm down Tomlinson, yeah? Go outside, get some air. Let Harry have some space.”

“Don’t _tell_ me what to do.”

Harry tries to tell them that it’s _okay_ , he’d just really like another shot, or maybe a sit down, or –

“I want to stay and dance.” Which, wait, no. He swallows against the dryness in his mouth, reaching out to Nick’s shoulder for support. “I want – “

“Yeah, leave him be all right?”

The music is pulsing, Harry’s heart and breath pulsing, filling him up. The lights are blurring his vision, cutting Louis in and out of focus. He feels like he can’t breathe.

“Don’t you _dare_ tell me how to take care of Harry.” Louis looks about ready to shove him again, hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Judging by that bruise on his eye I’m willing to bet you’re not exactly in the right place to be taking care of him properly either, so _bugger off_.”

Louis freezes, body stiff before he turns to Harry, who feels like any minute he’ll collapse from the weight of Louis and of Nick and the music and his _pulse,_ god –

“You told him?”

Harry’s throat feels suddenly very tight. “What was I supposed to do, keep it to myself? I needed someone to talk to, Louis, I needed – you _hit me_ , and I – I’m – “ He sways uncomfortably, clutching at the curls matted to his forehead with sweat. “God you’re such an _arsehole_ you know that? You’re – and you _hit me_.” Harry’s face is burning and he just really wants to leave now, wants to just go outside and maybe go to sleep.

Louis blinks uncomfortably, chin dropping slightly like he didn’t expect Harry to say anything close to that. “I know. I didn’t – “

“Is that all you can do? Apologize? Nick was _there_ for me. He talked to me and – “ Harry hiccups. “I don’t want fighting and I don’t want apologies, okay?”

There’s too much noise. Harry’s shouting and he hates shouting, hates having to shout, hates that everyone can probably hear them right now. Or maybe not because it’s so _loud_ –

“Harry please – “

“Don’t do that, don’t _Harry please_ me.” His body is starting to shake so he pushes his hand against Nick’s chest for support, clutching at his head. He needs to get out of here. “I’m going out, I need to go out. Nick, help me out.”

Nick grabs his arm, steadying him with his shoulder before pushing past Louis and letting security lead them out the back door. As soon as they get outside Harry collapses against the brick wall, wheezing against the stickiness in his throat, sighing as the cool breeze dries the sweat clinging to his collarbones. He pushes his curls back away from his face, eyes closing, before he hears the door open again.

“Seriously, give him some space,” Nick gets out, moving away from Harry’s side.

He slouches back more against the brick wall to compensate, grunting slightly as his bum makes contact with the hard cement. He’s afraid to open his eyes and everything keeps spinning, spinning, spinning.

“Look I just want to talk with him. I don’t want to start anything with you, all right?”

Harry wants to ask one of them for a bottle of water, but he can’t find the energy to open his mouth. Their voices are quieter now though, muffled, and he wonders momentarily if maybe he’s blacking out, before he’s able to focus in on the sound of traffic passing on the road alongside the back entrance.

“Don’t talk like ‘m not here,” he gets out, forehead in his hands. “’S not fair, ‘m right here.”

Nick sighs, too close all of a sudden, before stroking Harry’s back lightly. It feels nice. “Feels nice,” he mumbles.

“I’m going to get you some water, okay? Louis will stay out here and keep an eye on you.”

Harry nods, hands clammy from where they’re pressed against his skin. “Good, Louis is good.”

“Okay.” And then Nick’s hands are gone and he’s listening to the sound of the back door opening and closing again.

“You okay love?”

Harry shakes his head and groans. “’M really drunk.”

He hears Louis laugh softly before settling down next to him on the cement, knees bumping. “You are a bit, yeah.”

Harry doesn’t answer, just focuses in on the cool air and the way his breath warms the skin of his wrists.

“Haz, I’m – “

“No, don’t. ‘M s’posed to be _angry_ at you Lou, I’m angry at you.”

Louis is quiet for a moment before a soft, “I know,” drifts between them. “I’m mad at myself too.”

“You hit me.” He pushes his face away from his hands, lungs heavy. “You _hit me_.”

Louis has the audacity to look _scared_.

“Why would you do that? How could you _do that_ to me?”

“I don’t know, I don’t – “ He cuts himself off, head resting back against the building. A couple of cars pass by on the road beside them and Harry can still hear the music inside, can still feel it pulse along underneath his skin. “I’m not myself. Or maybe I am. Maybe I’m the kind of guy who makes excuses for himself. I hurt you Harry, god I _hurt you_. I don’t – when did this start happening?” He’s breathing heavily now, face tilted back as he runs his hands down the expanse of his cheeks, rubbing at them vigorously before opening his eyes again. He looks like sunlight underneath the nearby streetlamp and Harry wants to touch him or maybe push him away. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Harry nods because he gets that; he understands that, he _knows_ that. “I don’t know either,” he says softly. “I don’t remember how to be with you anymore.”

After a moment Louis’ fingers start picking at the cracks in the cement. “That makes sense.”

“’S not just you,” Harry says. “We’re not the same people.”

Louis doesn’t say anything and he won’t look at Harry either.

“Would it be easier if I left? Not – I mean.” He clears his throat. “Would it be easier if I let you be?”

Harry blinks rapidly against the cool air, chest burning. “What?”

“I’m.” Louis laughs even though it’s not funny. “Look at us, Harry. Look at _me_. And we’re not exactly in our right states now, are we?”

“No.” Harry shakes his head. “I don’t want you to leave.”

He nods, quickly glancing at the lines of Harry’s face before staring at the cement again. “I’ll stay then.”

They sit in silence for quite some time, Harry’s body and breath having slowed down to the point where he’s nearly falling asleep, fingers loosely curled in his lap, head resting against the jut of Louis’ shoulder. It feels right, is the thing, so unbelievably right. So _normal_. He can nearly imagine them back at their flat nestled underneath the duvet, Daisy between their legs, chest to back, breath to breath.

“Haz? Babe?”

He blinks his eyes open slowly, neck aching. “Hm?”

Louis is all he can see right now, so he’s startled when Nick comes out of nowhere, water bottle in hand. “I recommend drinking that slowly.”

Harry reaches for it with a small, “Thank you,” before taking a hesitant sip, stomach rolling uncomfortably.

“D’you think you can stand up?”

Harry closes his eyes, shakes his head.

“We can’t stay here all night, love.”

He groans. “Why not?”

Louis chuckles, breath tickling his ear. “You’ll freeze to death. Come on, let’s get you back to your hotel room, okay?”

He’s jostled slightly as Louis stands up and grabs onto his hand, lighting a fire in his fingertips and burning underneath his skin. He stumbles slightly when he gets upright, less dizzy now though and more just tired. Nick flanks his other side, and security is there to help him back into their car once they reach the sidewalk.

“There you go,” Louis murmurs as he helps Harry settle into the seat. “Don’t forget to buckle.”

“I’m drunk, not an idiot,” Harry mumbles. But his cheeks still flush at the way Louis is taking care of him anyway, soft and tender, something he hadn’t been on the receiving end of for a while.

After Louis and Nick are both seated, security pulls away from the curb and starts back to the hotel, which is thankfully only a handful of blocks away. Nick and Louis are muttering between themselves again and Harry really wants to speak up, but he’s just so _tired_ and Louis is too far away. He manages to push himself far enough over so that their shoulders just touch and he hums softly when Louis leans back into it in response.

When they get back to the hotel, Louis helps Harry out before taking his arm and leading him up through the sliding glass doors, Nick right behind them.

“Harry.” Nick presses into his side. “Louis is going to take you to his room, okay? It’s on the first floor, much quicker. Is that all right with you? Or do you want me to take you back up to yours?”

Harry shakes his head. “Jus’ want to sleep.”

Nick pats his cheek lightly. “What a champ. Make sure to call me when you’ve woken up with a massive hangover.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, and then he’s being led down a soft-carpeted hallway and pulled into a room he easily recognizes as Louis’.

It’s a mess; everything is a mess. There are half-empty water bottles on almost every surface and his suitcase is thrown at the end of the bed, clothes hanging out and lining the floor. “’S a mess,” he says.

Louis laughs before helping him over to the bed where he immediately drops down onto the bedraggled sheets, eyes already closed. “Let’s get you out of these clothes, yeah?”

Harry barely nods before Louis is gently removing the shoes from his feet, then his socks – because Harry _hates_ how constricting they are on his toes when he’s sleeping – before coming up beside him to unbutton his pants. He shivers slightly at how slowly Louis peels them away from his thighs, knuckles grazing his skin like a white fire. He wonders if Louis can notice the change in his breathing.

Once he’s got them off, he taps Harry’s shoulder lightly. “Arms up,” he murmurs. Harry complies, sighing contentedly as Louis pulls his shirt up and over his head, fingertips coming to rest in his curls for a fraction of a second. “Get some sleep. I’m going to go kip with Niall, okay?”

Harry reaches out before his mind even has time to process what he wants to say. “Stay.”

“Harry, I don’t think – “

“’M tired,” he slurs, “and I love you. So we’ll talk, we have to talk. But not now. Now I want you to stay.”

Louis is quiet for a moment before letting out a quiet, “Okay.” He pries at Harry’s fingers still. “Let me go get changed, okay?”

He nods, dropping his hold on Louis’ shirt and snuffling into the pillows. They smell like Louis; _everything_ smells like Louis. He missed it.

Louis gets up and disappears for only a moment before he’s sliding into the bed on the other side of Harry, mattress dipping with his weight. The soft glow of the light around them flickers off, and Harry waits for Louis to shuffle around on his side to get comfortable before rolling over and nuzzling into his chest.

He startles at that. “Harry, I’m – “

“Hold me, please.” He nuzzles in again, trying to get Louis to open up his arms for him, toes pressing against his calves.

Louis sighs. “Harry – “

“ _Hold me_.”

Harry feels Louis open his arms then, feels the way he pulls him in, fingers going straight to his curls, cheek pressing against the top of his head. Their legs intertwine in a rush, Harry’s breath loud in the silence of the room, and he lets his fingers graze against the skin of Louis’ abdomen, warm and familiar.

He wants to say something else, anything else, just to stay awake and _feel_ this – remember this. But he’s right on the edge of sleep, mind hazy, and so he just pushes in closer before pressing a wet kiss to the dip of Louis’ collarbones, letting the steady hum of his pulse lull him under.

 

~

 

Harry wakes up to the sound of a kettle. He groans loudly, turning his head back into the pillow in the hopes of blocking out the light _and_ the noise, but if anything it just makes it harder to breathe. “What time ‘s it?”

“Half past eight. Told your trainer to give you the morning off, what with you being hungover and all.”

Heat pools in the pit of Harry’s stomach, breath short, because that’s _Louis_ – Louis’ voice, Louis’ smell. _Louis_. Last night floods back to him and he’s overwhelmed with a sense of familiarity that hasn’t been around in a while. He lifts his head when he hears Louis set a mug of tea and painkillers on the bedside table, letting out a throaty, “Thanks”, before taking a couple and resting his fingertips along the warm ceramic.

“Did you sleep okay?” Louis asks as he sits back on his side of the bed, mug of tea in his hands.

Harry nods. “Best night of sleep I’ve had in a while, I think.”

Louis nods, taking a slow sip from his tea. “Are you feeling all right? Or do I need to get a bucket?”

He snorts. “’M fine, but thank you.”

“I ordered some room service. Got the greasiest food they had – I even went into the lunch foods. Got you some chips with extra ketchup, the works.”

Harry has to close his eyes at that because _god_ , Louis’ been taking care of him nonstop since last night and it feels so right, the way he knows what Harry wants – what makes him better. “Thank you.”

“Think you’ll be okay in a couple of hours? We’ve got to be back at the venue.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Louis nods again, resting himself back against the headboard. They sit in silence for a bit, just sipping tea and listening to the rumble of the air conditioning, before Louis clears his throat.

“I think I’m going to talk to someone, you know, about my anger.”

Harry almost chokes on his tea. “What?”

“It’s the right thing to do, yeah? I’m so _angry_ at what I did to you, at what’s happened to our relationship – for hitting you. And I read somewhere that statistically if there’s one shove in a relationship there will always be a second shove, and like I hate myself – _hate_ myself, Harry. I would never hurt you, not again. But it’s statistics and _science_ – “

“Louis.” Harry straightens up so that he’s resting back against the headboard too, mug resting in his lap. “I think that’s a great idea.”

“Yeah?”

Harry smiles softly. “Yeah. Whatever you need to do, I think that’s smart.”

Louis smiles back hesitantly before looking down at his hands, fingertips playing with the lip of his mug. “Do you hate me?”

“I’ve never hated you,” Harry murmurs. “I could never hate you.”

“I’d hate me.”

“Well clearly we’re not the same person.”

Louis nods at that and Harry wishes he’d look at him, wishes they could have this conversation face to face. He studies his profile instead – the stubble growing along his cheeks, the redness rimming his eyes – still puffy from sleep. And then his lips, chapped and pursed tightly together. Harry’s never wanted to kiss him more.

“You told me I was brave,” Harry starts. “Back at the bungalow. You told me I was brave, and I told you that sometimes people who are brave aren’t as brave later on, and that sometimes people who aren’t as brave get braver with time.” He watches Louis’ eyes flicker at that, like he’s remembering it too. “I’m sorry I lost my bravery for you.”

Louis looks up at that, eyes soft, like they’re those teenaged boys cuddled back underneath that huge duvet again.

“I made it about Eleanor and I made it about being lonely so that I could ignore the fact that I was _scared_. I was scared of being without you, of being _with_ you. And somewhere along the way I lost our trust, I lost my bravery. I tried to manipulate you into something you weren’t even ready for because I wanted to be ready for it too. I _needed_ to be ready for it.”

Louis shakes his head. “I never had bravery to begin with Harry. I stripped you of yours – I took it from you because I was afraid you’d never wait for me to brave back. You did so much waiting. You’ve _done_ so much waiting.”

Harry curls onto his side to face Louis, watches as he mirrors the movement. “You were trying to protect me.”

“I always try to protect you,” Louis says softly.

There’s a glow coming from underneath the curtains, outlining Louis’ body in a hazy light. Harry wants to reach out and touch him, wants to feel him again. “Do you still love me?”

“Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, Harry. I love you.”

Harry smiles at that, throat warm.

“You accepted yourself from the beginning – you’ve always been that kind of person. And I’m sorry I’m not like that, I’m sorry I can’t ask people to accept who I am when I can’t do it myself.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Harry murmurs, because he doesn’t want this, doesn’t Louis to feel ashamed of himself. “Is that how you’ve felt this whole time? Carrying around feeling ashamed?”

“Only sometimes,” Louis answers. “But I had you then, I had you to love and accept me. I didn’t really need anything else.”

_As long as we’re together._

“I just. I got so scared when you started asking. That’s why I started spending so much time with her – with Eleanor. Even though we said – even though I – “ He cuts himself off with a groan. “I thought I’d hate myself less if I pretended. Pretended I was straight. Pretended I was with her. Pretended you and I were just mates.”

Harry has to look away then because his eyes are burning, throat burning. “Why would you do that? You knew that I – how I _felt_ when you’d come home and – “

“I didn’t know how to tell you something like that,” Louis interrupts. “I didn’t know how to tell you how much of a coward I was – that I was afraid to be with you even in private. I wanted it though. I wanted _you_. Still do, always. I was just – I don’t _know_.”

Harry closes his eyes, listens to Louis’ breath as he tries to calm himself.

“I never meant to hide you. I don’t want to hide you anymore; I don’t want to hide you. I don’t want you to feel like a secret to me. You are _not_ a secret to me.”

“Lou,” Harry gets out hoarsely, because he can’t figure out how to speak anymore, how to find the right words for this. “I don’t need to come out to know I’m not a secret to you.”

“So you don’t want –?”

“I do.” He swallows loudly before opening his eyes again. Louis’ face looks almost lost in his fringe. “I do. But I don’t need to, not now, not if you’re never ready.”

Louis looks up at the ceiling briefly, chest rising. “I don’t want you to push away what you want just because I don’t want the same thing right now. We have to compromise – _balance_. I have to give just as much as you do, love.”

“Okay,” Harry says, smile pushing at his lips. “Okay, then.”

Louis’ answering smile is blinding. “Okay.”

Harry licks his lips. “Want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?”

Louis’ closing the distance between them before Harry’s even finished. His lips feel like home, taste like spooning in the morning and heated breath, like the mattress underneath his skin, like the sun. He wants to drown in this, wants to suffocate in the way their lips touch.

_Don’t forget me when it gets too big for us, all right?_

_Never._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if any of you are curious, the song lyrics I had during the clubbing scene is from the song Pressure (Alesso radio edit) by Alex Kenji. it's probably way too old and not in the same sort of music scene to be playing in a club but it's what I was listening to and I definitely get down to it so I thought hey why not. Also the lyrics fit pretty nicely but maybe I'm just delusional.

**Author's Note:**

> you can always find me and my works at haz-nana.tumblr.com. feel free to send comments, criticism, what have you, there as well!


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